Silver Lily
by A Silent Child
Summary: How could it be that such a fragile creature could be a killer? He could see it in her eyes, he could feel it in the air around her, the remorse that comes with a heavy past and the smell of sorrow on her skin. She would kill soon, she had to; just like he did when he was a child. He needs to find a way to stop her before she loses control...or is it the other way around? Gaara/OC
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She threw her dark hood over her head, ducking under the low overhang of a willow tree, beneath long green tendrils of delicate leafs, crouching beneath what coverage it provided from the heavy rainfall, cloak pooled about her and black kimono tucked beneath her. She watched the droplets splatter across the mud not three inches from her face, forest green eyes shadowed, crossing her arms and letting out a huff of air. There was a clearing a few feet away, long grass drenched in water, surrounded by more trees, crowded together as if to witness her helplessness. Her black sandals were smeared with mud, sticking to her toes and ankles, staining the ends of her cloak and kimono. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, gritting her ivory teeth and pressing back against the bark, breathing deeply through her mouth. The mission was simple. She had to deliver a message to the Mizukage, regarding the peace treaty between the Mist and Sand, while avoiding any possible assassins chasing after her, because of course, the bad blood between enemy villages and the Sand made things pretty dangerous. It was easy. It shouldn't have been a sweat, wouldn't have been, but the sudden downpour had caught her off guard, and nobody had had a mind to tell her that when it rained in the Water Country, it meant that you couldn't see a _damn thing_. A foot ahead of her could've been standing an enemy shinobi right now and she would've been none the wiser.

She squinted through the heavy fog, long lashes thickly framing her verdant eyes, all sound muffled by the sighs and whispers of the rain, which blurred everything around her to shapeless figures. Anything could be watching her right now—shinobi who were accustomed to this weather, or animals who were hungry from a long winter—and she had no way of knowing. She adjusted herself to a more comfortable kneel, preparing herself to flee at any moment, and began to rifle through her pack for something to eat, a fatigue settling about her body that reminded her she had not eaten since her passing through the Fire Country, nearly a day ago. A rice ball and a few sips of water was enough to appease her hunger for now, keeping herself tensed toward what looked like an opening through a parting of the trees to her right, her hand curling over the cold iron sting of her fan, keeping her eyes peeled for movement of any kind. A wind jutsu might not be as effective in the rain, but it could be a good distraction, long enough for her to get a head start, at least.

The long strands of the willow tree kept her obscured well enough, and the thick roots, curving out from the slopping wet earth was good enough for temporary shelter, slender body curled beneath it. She leaned against one particular root, watching attentively, composing herself, formulating a thousands plans and escape routes until the rain stopped. But from the looks of things, that wouldn't be for a long time, sky heavily clouded and endless buckets of water pouring down. She sighed, aggravation bordering frustration.

_Just be patient_, she thought. _Just a little longer until all your energy is back and you can keep moving. _Somehow, though, she didn't think that was going to be possible. Something seemed amiss and she couldn't quite tell what, pressing her lips together and tightening her grip around her fan.

~~...~~...~~

"She should be there soon," a deep voice said from behind him.

He watched the wind whip wildly outside the window, grains of sand scraping against the walls and tearing through the air. Nobody would be outside at this point. It was far too hot and the storm had reached a dangerous level. He pressed a pale hand against the warm glass, pallid green eyes searching the clouded skies, and then turned to look at his brother, purple paint cleared from his face and brown hair messy. "Letting her go alone was a mistake," he replied in a rough voice, sitting back down at his desk and clasping his fingers. "It's too risky."

"You know as well as I do that she can handle herself," Kankuro chastised, stuffing his hands in his pockets and smiling in reassurance. "Besides, it's just a letter she's delivering. Nothing too difficult." As he said it, though, he felt worry pull at his mind. He had a feeling something would go wrong, but their sister would most likely break their fingers one by one if she ever found out they had doubted her for even a second.

"We should've waited a few more days," Gaara murmured, more to himself than his brother, smoothing down his white robes and furrowing his brow.

"Any longer and the Mizukage would've blown a gasket," Kankuro muttered. "You did the right thing, at the right time. Now just relax. She'll be back home soon, safe and sound, with the good news that the Mist had agreed to form an alliance. You'll see."

His older brother said it with a certainty that would've appeased Gaara, would've set his worries to rest, but as his pallid green eyes shifted over Kankuro's face, he caught the brief shadow that passed over his features. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, right over the kanji engraved there. "It's too late to send anyone now."

"Unless you send that weird guy from the Leaf," Kankuro mused helpfully. "That one with the weird eyebrows... He's pretty fast."

Gaara shook his head, opening his mouth to protest until a thought occurred to him. "Perhaps I _will_ ask Lady Hokage for Rock Lee. But I'd also like to send the Haruno girl." He shuffled through the piles of paper on his desk, uncharacteristically disorganized because of his worry for his older sister.

Kankuro scratched the back of his ear, furrowing his brows. "Are you sure about that? She's their best medic."

"Which is why I'd send her," Gaara replied evenly, writing his request on a blank paper, dipping a brush into solid black ink and printing as neatly as he could. "If she is hurt, I'd like an experienced, talented medic to help her."

Kankuro looked away, smiling to himself in relief. His little brother really did care now, and he silently thanked Naruto Uzumaki for the hundredth time in the last four years. "Are we sending a bird?" he asked, watching a pale hand skim across the paper smoothly, setting aside a black lacquered brush and folding the paper carefully. "In this weather..."

"It should blow over by tonight," Gaara said, holding the letter out for his older brother to take. "They're much closer to the Water Country than we are, so they should be there much sooner. By then, I assume she will be exhausted and will need the support, at least for half the way." He straightened the documents on his desk, a sign that his worries were finally consoled, and sat back against his chair calmly, letting his brother read over the letter.

"Alright then," Kankuro nodded. "I'll send our fastest bird immediately." He walked toward the door and paused, glancing back and smiling. "You're a good leader, Gaara," he stated before stepping out and shutting the door behind him, leaving his pleasantly surprised baby brother to think that over.

He set down the pencil he had taken up, turning in his chair to gaze out the window. The winds had calmed some, and the grains of sand were a mere scratching on the glass now. Yes, the storm should let up by tonight. Then it should be safe for the message to get to the Leaf.

~~...~~...~~

It was cloudy overhead, and the weather was cool and breezy, fluttering her hair and clothes, pink strands tickling her chin and nose and lips, her red shirt pressing against her chest and pallid skirt brushing her thighs. She clasped her cloak at the front, arranging her hidden kunai within the flaps and checking her pack for her extra medicine. Lee stood beside her, knotting his forehead protector and fixing his own cloak on. No hidden weaponry. No emergency tools. He had all the confidence in his skills to know he wouldn't need anything else. She pressed her fingers against her lips, lowering her clear green eyes slowly.

Lee caught her expression before she could hide it, frowning back at her in his concern. "Sakura, what is the matter? Is something bothering you?" he asked kindly.

She gestured to him, not having the heart to lie to him for the innocent look in his dark eyes, replying with a faint voice, "You seem so...sure that you'll be fine with what you have..."

He smiled brightly, seeming to understand her meaning. "I am only sure because you are here, Sakura. With your healing abilities and brains, we'll make it through safely, I know it." He struck her a thumbs-up, reassuring her in his whimsical way.

She pulled out the map after a thankful nod to him, holding it out to look over once more. "We only need to head to the Mist and escort her back to the Sand safely," Sakura said, folding the paper once more and tucking it into her pack. She pointed toward the east with two fingers, relaying the directions and how they'll get there, how long it should take and at what pace would be best. Lee nodded, and Sakura was at once grateful that he would be her companion. Had it been Naruto, he would've been confused by now. She took the lead after establishing their formation—she at the front to lead them there and he at the back for protection—easily finding her way through the trees, keeping a steady pace. Neither of them were all that good at tracking, nor were they particularly practiced in advanced senses—that was left to team Kurenai, of course—and so they were left to their instincts and guts alone.

Lee was quick, she knew that. He would react, should anything happen, faster than she ever could, and would perhaps have whatever stray attackers knocked out before she could even blink, let alone respond. She sighed, flipping and jumping from branch to branch, comforted by the sound of his own sandals landing evenly on bark behind her, letting an easy, comfortable quiet fall between them.

"It'll be a day and a half's trip," she said as they passed over a clearing. "We'll stop at sundown at an inn, and head out at dawn. By then we'll make it to the ocean and find a ship to take us the rest of the way there."

"Alright," Lee replied, if only to ease her nerves, and they continued on with only a few words of courtesy between them.

~~...~~...~~

She pulled at the end of the white cloth with her teeth, knotting a bandage around her bicep and then sighing in relief when she was finished, fixing her sleeve back into place. She shifted and stood to jump down from the boulder she rested on, which gave a nice, wide view of her surroundings, currently a bleak beach shore, fixing her fan back into place and adjusting her cloak back onto her shoulders as a light sprinkling began once again, quickly turning into a drizzle, which would, she knew, soon become another heavy downpour. It had been off-again, on-again for the past few hours and it was becoming unnerving, even more so as she looked around her once more and realized, with a grimace, that she had been outsmarted by those shinobi she'd thought she had outrun. They had side-tracked her to the ocean side, a few dozen miles away from the Mist, and now stood on the sharp rocks of what made up the beach, gloomy and desolate as it was. She scoffed at herself, pulling her hood back on and hopping down onto the drenched, grayed sand below. She let the wind currents direct her toward her destination, turning to make her way back toward her intended location, counting her weaponry once more in her mind as she did. But a sight halted her immediately, and something akin to dread pooled lower in her stomach.

There, at the very fringes of the water's reach, caught between two large boulders jutting out from the ground itself, was a young girl, lying there, motionless. She was faced with a moment of uncertainty, half turned toward the woods, ready to bolt first chance she got. The girl could've been a kunoichi, an actress to lure her into another trap. She could've been another enemy, waiting until she was close enough to stab her right in the chest and let her bleed to death on the beach, rain falling quickly now.

_Or_, her mind whispered to her, _she could be dying, herself. She could be in genuine trouble... _

Reluctantly, she stepped toward the girl, bowing her head as the rain picked up steadily, crossing her arms close to her. As she neared, it became apparent that the girl was completely unconscious, her right arm above her, hand open and fingers slack, palm up, her wrist curving slightly against an edge of the boulder nearest her, her other arm draped over her stomach, hand hanging over her side, face turned toward her right, short sea-darkened hair covering her face and sticking to her neck and ears. Her clothing was torn, drenched and clinging to her skin tightly, a pair of loose dark pants, a white long-sleeved shirt and no shoes. But what made the Wind Master's stomach twist with horror and worry was the fact that that white shirt was stained with crimson, her left hand hardly enough to obscure the torn cotton and sliced flesh of her stomach. What was worse, more than the fact that a sword lied beside her, covered with the vermillion that seemed to seep into the sand below the girl, or that her skin was a deathly pale, bordering a faint blue, was that she could hardly make out the girl's stomach at all. It was all but a mass of torn flesh and dark, dripping red, white cotton stretched to thin, fine strings just over it.

"Shit," she whispered, pressing her hand into the cold rock to steady herself. "Shit, that's bad..." After a moment, she knelt down to check for a pulse, and found it after a few long, frantic moments of searching, faint and almost nonexistent, there beneath the jaw. "How are you still alive?" she asked the comatose girl. The skin of a human did not turn blue without good reason, and after a minute of revulsion and fear, Temari turned the girl's head and pinched her nose, breathing deeply and bending over her to blow air into her lungs, pushing down on her ribs and counting in her head. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes later, the girl coughed, glassy pale eyes opening briefly and then falling shut as exhaustion overcame her. Temari sighed, pressing a hand over her heart.

She pulled a rope from her pack and knotted it around her waist, taking the sword—which she assumed to be evidence—and wrapped it up in an extra shirt she had brought, sliding it under the rope at her hip and then gathered the girl up in her arms, much too light to be healthy, leaning back against the boulder to steady herself and watch the water wash up to catch the blood left in the sand, and then turning and jogging as quickly as she could with the new weight into the woods.

She jumped up onto a branch above, making her way higher until she could easily glide through the woods, leaping from branch to branch, trying to keep her breaths controlled despite her weariness, half expecting kunai to slice past her. Almost a mile and a half in, she found a good enough spot for shelter, a hollow within a massive tree, slipping the girl inside and then yanking a few large leafs down to hide them and ducking inside herself. It was dry within the hollow, the dirt powdery and untouched by the rain, good enough to spread her cloak on the ground for a bed. She set her fan against the side and arranged her pack and supplies beside it, the sword laid before it, pulling out a small lantern to illuminate them. When she found a good enough place to set it, she turned back to the girl to check the wounds.

Using a kunai, she cut the shirt away, delicately picking the cloth from the wound, and tearing off a clean end to wet again with her water, wringing it out off to the side and wiping away the dried blood on the flesh around the gash, a bright, ghastly red that glared her in the face. She dabbed at the wound with alcohol, smearing ointment over it and then lifting the girl to wrap her in bandages, putting her things away when she was satisfied with herself. After another quick snack and a sip of water, she allowed herself to rest, lying down and shutting her eyes for the first time in almost two days.

Why she had saved the girl, she couldn't quite say. She wasn't necessarily the compassionate type, but she supposed that if she had been in the same situation, she would've appreciated some help. Temari sighed into the cool air, relaxing into the ground for a moment. It wasn't like she was going to stick around to see the girl wake up anyway. It would be a waste of time and would test her pity further than she needed.

Dutifully, after a quick nap and another small snack, she gathered her things, pulling her cloak on once more, leaving a shirt for the girl to wear with the sword lying beside it, and slipping outside into a reasonable drizzle, only glancing back once to check the slumbering girl and then pulling the leafs back into place and heading off toward the Mist. She would have to hurry this time around, and kept her fan at the ready, biting down on a food pill to increase her speed, kicking off a branch to propel her further. This mission had become serious now, and neither the thoughts of a dying girl or conniving shinobi would stop her. She would get this done and head straight home. Even if she had to tear down the entire forest with her wind to do it.

A force drove her now and nothing would get in her way, green eyes narrowing and ivory teeth grit.

~~...~~...~~

The Mizukage was beautiful, with long auburn hair and flawless peach skin, aquamarine eyes bright. Temari bowed respectfully in her presence, wary of the watching guard. Their lovely leader sat at the head of the room, atop a large chair, fire flickering in pots of gold on either side of the large room, smiling kindly to Temari, anticipating the reason for her being there. The stares weighed down on her, and she shifted beneath them, lowering her gaze and pulling out the documents she was charged with delivering, stepping forward and offering it silently. A short shinobi jumped down from her side, glasses glinting in the fire and a timid pair of eyes behind them, taking it from her gingerly and then joining the Mizukage once more.

After quickly reading over it, pinching the letter between two neatly manicured blue-painted nails, she held it away from her for a councilman to take, locking eyes with Temari and smiling warmly. "Thank you," she said in a smooth, satiny voice. "Send my regards to the young Kazekage, please."

Temari gave another slight bow, furrowing her brows as she noticed the puddles that dripped around her upon the dark gray tiles, reflecting the flames, clothes icy against her skin. "Of course."

"In the meanwhile, you're dripping wet and it's late. Chojuro, please escort this lovely girl to one of the guest rooms." The same boy appeared beside her, twiddling his thumbs and turning toward the main doors.

Temari shook her head vehemently. "I really should get going."

"But, dear, you're covered in mud and blood," the Mizukage exclaimed, crossing her elegant legs and straightening her back primly. "I insist. We have warm beds and baths here at your disposal. I expect you to take full advantage of them." She waved her hand in dismissal as Temari began to protest again. "I insist," she repeated.

Temari relented, nodding once and following the boy out of the vast throne room and into the hallway, lit up by torches every few feet. Opposite to her were evenly spaced squared windows, from which gray light filtered through, rain splattering softly against the glass, muffled into a soothing noise now. She pressed her hand against her forehead, feeling lightheaded now from all the rain. Dark eyes met her own and the boy paused, confused. "Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly.

She breathed deeply through her nose, closing her teal eyes to steady herself. "I'm fine," she finally said, gesturing for him to continue. After a moment of speculative silence, looking her over in concern, he nodded and showed her through the complicated hallways to her room, opening the door for her and telling her, in a genteel manner, to call if she needed anything, and pointed to a button near a black television that would alert any servants should she require anything in particular. She thanked him and shut the door after he head turned a corner and left her sight. The floor was white carpet and walls were painted a pale sea blue, with a bed of matching colors. She left her sandals at the door, muddied and wet, dropping her things on the floor. She smoothed her hands down her cloak, cold and damp, and decided to pull it off, folding it beside her sandals. She yanked her red obi loose and let it flutter to the ground, resting her fan against the wall and peeling off her moist kimono, leaving it there by the door and slipping into the bathroom. The tiles were white, the sink ivory, cool beneath her bare feet, which were crusted with dry dirt. She stopped in front of the sink after shutting the door, picking away her bandages and pulling the bands from her hair, leaving them on the counter and looking herself over in the mirror.

Her wheat blonde hair was tangled wildly about her head, snarls of curls with twigs and leafs and moss stuck to every strand. She grimaced and rubbed the mud sticking to her eyebrows away. Blood was smeared across her arm and stomach, and there was a scratch or two about her abdomen. She sighed and stretched, deciding to not fret too much. The life of a shinobi wasn't meant to be pretty.

She showered first, watching mud and blood swirl down the drain at her feet, turning her face up to the water and letting herself feel it run its liquid fingers over body and wounds, massaging floral shampoo into her hair and wiping the dirt from her body, locks of hair softening and skin aching. A bath followed, relaxing her muscles and sinking lower into the steaming water and breathing out slowly. Her wheat blonde hair began to flow around her as the water licked her chin, dark green eyes pensive and clouded, curling her legs up and resting her hands on her stomach, tapping her fingers against the softened skin.

First thing tomorrow, she would head out and go home right away. She couldn't stand this much rain any more, and the grainy scratch of sand was much better than the icy kiss of rain. She closed her eyes and sunk the rest of the way in, wetting her hair and then sitting up to stretch her sore back. The tub was ivory white and the tiles of the floor and walls were a milky hue. The towels folded on a table beside her and the soaps lined up at the sink a pasty blue color. She hugged her knees and sighed, body thrumming as she thawed in the burning water.

_I'll be home soon_, she thought. But something told her it wouldn't be that simple.

~~...~~...~~

A young girl opened her eyes slowly, a ghostly blue that was marred by the red tinging the sclera. She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it, world spinning around her and bells ringing in her ears. She was somewhere dark, dank, and cold. It was too small to be a room and too big to be a casket. So she was neither imprisoned, nor dead. But her brows furrowed anyway, feeling beneath her at the surprisingly dry dirt and looking around to make out her location. She _should've _been dead. She was sure she was dead.

Last time she checked, she was being violently slammed into sharp rocks and yanked down into heavy pressurized water by the ocean, hardly able to catch a breath and lungs too exhausted to work. This was certainly a change. And she didn't think that she could get from the ocean to here, not unconsciously anyway. And, had she been awake long enough, she didn't think she _could _manage to find her way from the shore to shelter, much less one as good as this one.

She pressed her hands along the walls, forming an uneven circle around her, made of relatively smooth wood, until one wall, or a part of it, sunk under her fingers, and she pushed a little harder until a stream of dim light slanted inside. It was a leaf, from a more aquatic plant, pulled over a hollow of a tree. _Smart_, she thought. The trees here often had green bark, and, if not, were covered thickly in moss. A leaf would be mostly unnoticeable this way. She leaned back on her feet, looking down as a wet breeze flicked onto her skin.

Her shirt was cut and torn in half, but her pants were still intact. Beside the sword that had earlier been plunged into her stomach, wrapped up in a pale cloth, was a black shirt folded neatly. She stared for a few moments, pressing her hand against the new bandages wrapped around her middle. Whoever had rescued her had been kind enough to treat her, and she silently thanked her savior, pulling off the tattered remains of her white shirt and picking up the new one. It was soft against her skin, too thin for the weather outside, but it was nice and loose and comfortable and she grew attached immediately. She bundled up the bloody shirt and grabbed the sword, stepping out into the drizzle and hiding the shirt beneath a rock somewhere. By the time someone found it, she was sure she'd be long gone. She carefully pulled the cloth, which turned out to be another shirt, from the blade, ripping it in half to make a temporary belt—a very flimsy, strange belt—and tucked the sword at her right hip, checking her surroundings and walking out further into the woods.

The mud sunk beneath her, squished between her toes and stuck to her ankles, cold and slippery under her feet, slowing her down more than she would've liked. Fatigue weighed her bones down, hunger overcoming her, and she licked her chapped lips, sinking her fingers into the bark of nearby trees to support her. The skin of her lips broke and she could taste blood, holding her breath and gritting her teeth and lifting her face to the rain to wash it away.

Whoever had saved her had both her gratitude and her hatred. Death meant freedom. Life meant war. And though she did not entirely want to die, she did not want to live all that much either. She wanted to find the person who helped her and thank them personally, but she also wanted to demand they take responsibility for everything that came afterward.

She could feel the stares on her back as she struggled through the trees. She huffed loudly and stopped, her hand finding the hilt of the sword—the very same sword that had been stabbed through her abdomen perhaps just hours ago—and leaned against a tree, wishing she would've stayed hidden in the hollow until she had all of her energy back. She didn't have enough strength left in her to properly wield a sword, and it squeezed the air from her lungs and sucked the life from her body, eyelids heavy and heart pounding in her chest. She moved to pull the sword from her makeshift belt, turning toward a figure that appeared suddenly beside her, but her hands were pulled behind her back and she was slammed into the tree behind her, bark scraping her cheek.

_Damn it_, she thought, rope being bound around her wrists. _I don't have the energy to deal with this right now... _And again she scolded herself for not training enough, for not working hard enough, for being caught again... A black sack was thrown over her head, and she was lifted and thrown over a muscular shoulder, body bending and curving to accommodate. The bone jabbed into her wound and she grit her teeth to keep from bile and blood rising up, squeezing her eyes shut. _Not here_, she hissed mentally. _Not now._

The rain drenched her back and her hair whipped about her chin as they traveled through the trees, all but silent save for the quiet chatter passed between the shinobi.

~~...~~...~~

Temari had woken late at night, and shifted in the sheets to look at the door. The dim light of the torches flickered beneath the gap, but there was no noise. She sat up slowly and placed her feet flat on the soft carpet. She wore a pallid nightgown provided by a maid, her clothing being washed somewhere in the building and her sandals being mended. She stood and padded over to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. She was in enemy territory. She couldn't afford to let her guard down for any amount of time, no matter how hospitable they were.

Quick footsteps made her freeze, and the sound of urgent murmurs had her opening the door and peeking out. A large group of Mist shinobi gathered at the end of the hall, struggling with something small in the middle, snapping at one another and wrestling down a writhing figure. Her fingers curled around the door frame, narrowing her teal eyes as they won over and continued down the hall. She tiptoed out, shutting the door silently and following them, footfalls quiet and breaths even.

The walk was familiar, leading back down toward the throne-like room, and she hid behind a corner as they filed into the room and let the doors clang heavily shut behind them. She pulled at the hem of the nightgown, cutting off just above mid-thigh, much too thin for her liking. The rain outside cooled the inside of the building and made goosebumps litter her skin, arms and thighs and spine, and she let out a shaky breath. She really would've rather been at home than here. Anywhere but here.

"Miss," a voice broke her from her thoughts, and she nearly jumped in surprise, pressing back against the wall and turning her gaze to the boy that had spoken, dusty blue hair plastered to his skin from what could've been a recent shower, brows furrowed and dark eyes concerned. Chojuro, as the Mizukage had called him. He wore a simple pair of pajamas, a faint blue button up with matching cotton pants, slippers adorning his feet whereas she was barefoot. "You really shouldn't be sneaking around," he continued in a hushed voice, leaning closer and not meeting her gaze, timidly mumbling, "It could give people the wrong idea about the Sand. And since we have a treaty, that could be problematic."

Temari sighed, placing a hand over her heart beat, the neckline of the gown plunging deeper than Chojuro was comfortable seeing. "Perhaps you're right," she murmured, relaxing. "I only got curious. It's hard not to sneak around. I've been taught to do it my whole life..."

He smiled sheepishly, lowering his eyes to his feet. "I understand. I will escort you back to your room so as not to raise suspicion." She nodded as he turned to lead her back, but a hand fell on her shoulder, firmly stopping her before she could follow. Chojuro blinked up at the person behind her, brows pulling together. "Please," he said to them faintly. "She's causing no trouble. I'm taking her back now." He reached an unsure hand out to her, pausing midway, uncertainty overcoming his features.

"Lady Mizukage requests her presence," a deep voice rumbled from behind her, urging her toward the meeting room.

Chojuro relented, nodding and slipping past the guard and into the room, not meeting her eyes. She combed her fingers through her hair self-consciously, padding into the throne room ahead of the guard behind her and grimacing as the door clanged shut once more. The pots of fire had dulled some, the ground nearly black beneath her, and the Mizukage now wore a short, royal blue nightgown, hair tied back, with irritable aquamarine eyes glowering at a figure at the center of the room. Temari followed her line of gaze and stopped abruptly, taken aback, teal eyes widening in surprise.

The girl was dirty, covered thickly with mud and dirt, sopping wet from head to toe with clothing that was too big for her, fair hair marred with seaweed and moss, arms bound behind her back by chakra strings and a sword tied to her hip by a thin strap of cloth that seemed about to tear completely. The girl she had saved earlier.

_What is she doing here_? Temari grit her ivory teeth, eyes narrowing. _She shouldn't be here. She should've made it home by now._

"The Sand's most renowned kunoichi will decide your fate," the Mizukage announced, crossing her long legs and meeting Temari's gaze. "This girl has been tried for treachery, theft, and murder. What do you propose should be done with her?"

Temari's brows raised, confounded. Looking back over at the girl, she found herself doubting the accusations. The girl was frail, thin to the point of being feeble, if not breakable, and seemed hardly able to stand on her own two feet. Nothing about the girl seemed even remotely capable of harm. But a shinobi read underneath the underneath, and perhaps this girl really _was _a criminal. _Still_, a voice whispered somewhere in the forgotten, dusty parts of her cold heart, _you saved her. She meant something to you, even if you don't know it. You _saved _her._

Temari clasped her hands, offering a small smile. "I don't think it's in my place to decide..." she trailed off, the girl turning her head toward her infinitesimally, her damp hair sticking to her skin and hiding her gaze. But she could see the curve of her sharp nose and the way her pale, chapped lips parted in confusion. "Really, I'm just an outsider."

"Consider this a sign of our treaty," the Mizukage stated, spreading her hands out, fingers open and palms up, a grand gesture as if to imply the entire village of the Mist was watching now, waiting for a decision. "This girl has done horrible things and I want another input on what her punishment should be."

And Temari didn't know what to say. At any other time, at any other place, at any other moment, she would've gladly done as she was told. She was a dutiful kunoichi, always had been, and followed orders obediently, silently, emotionlessly. But emotions did come now, whereas, before, they never did. As she looked at the girl, a stranger she did not know, she was bombarded with her feelings, her guilt and her remorse, her sadness and her pity, and she couldn't bring herself to say anything. "_Lock her up for life_," she would've said. "_Kill her with poison... Hang her in front of her family..._" But none of these things spilled from her mouth.

Her green eyes lowered, a faint gleam of gold in them from the flames dancing in the pots of gold hung on either side of the vast room. "I..." she began, hesitant in ways she was not accustomed to. What could she say? The girl did not deserve to die, not like this. A million thoughts spun through Temari's head, so many outcomes, so many paths, and then she closed her eyes and said, "In the Sand, we often take our prisoners from enemy villages and enslave them. They rebuild what damages are caused to our village or serve as a shinobi of our own, to humiliate them should their former village ever see them..." She raised her verdant eyes up to the Mizukage, brilliant aquamarine orbs watching her pensively. "This girl... I could take her to the Sand and make her a slave of our own...and make sure she never lives a day of her life without labor."

The girl turned toward her just a little more, and Temari could finally see her eyes. They glowed a fiery golden color, a burning yellow and scalding orange, glassy eyes reflecting the fire more dramatically than her own dark green eyes did, but they held no anger. They remained curious, cautious, and carefully blank. A silence followed Temari's suggestion, and the Mizukage seemed to think it through deeply. The bite of her nails into her palms made her aware of how tightly she was curling her fists, and she composed herself, keeping her eyes on the Mizukage unwaveringly.

"It seems...rather fitting," the Mizukage finally said, giving a cursory glance at the girl, who bowed her head under the stare. "Take her to a place so different from here, so completely drastic a change she has little chance of even surviving...and then make her work outside her entire life in it..." Her glossy pink lips turned up in a smile, turquoise eyes warming gently, holding a hand out to Chojuro, standing beside her quietly, and took a paintbrush to write quickly on a document held before her. "Very well then. Criminal 621, Gin, will be sentenced to a life spent in the Village Hidden in the Sand as a slave and is from here on exiled from the Water Country." She stamped the documents and waved them away, nodding at the guards to take the girl away before looking back at Temari, standing stunned near the doors. "Very creative of the Sand, and very cruel. But I suppose that's what makes it so famous. And why their shinobi can be so heartless." She smiled again and Temari realized she had been complimenting her, shoving down her alarm and guilt. "They're going to clean her now and she'll be ready tomorrow for your departure." Chojuro hopped down and walked to the doors to escort her to her room.

Temari bowed, if only to hide her expression, stomach twisting and heart sinking.

"Thank you, young lady. And sleep well." Temari turned to step out, doors held open by two burly guards, Chojuro waiting for her just outside, and the Mizukage's silken voice murmured, "By the way, tell the Kazekage...that I sense a change coming soon."

The doors clanged shut before she could say anything, and they were left in the warm light of the torches, rain tapping against the window. She followed the boy to her room and nodded when he bid her goodnight, closing the door and standing there in the darkness, eyes wide and heart pounding.

She had stolen the freedom of another human being, and it was her responsibility now. In the Sand, if you enslaved another, they were your duty. This girl would forever know her as the monster that took her future away from her.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: I hope that holds your attention.**

**The girl's name is actually Gene, or it was supposed to be. But here it's Gin, which, yes, is a girl's name and it means "silver". It's fitting, I'd say. Why do I bring up the name? You'll see soon enough.**

**Please review, this is my first fanfic, with an OC, and I am going to need the criticism and support, because I, very commonly, do not finish things. And it sucks. Eggs. **


	2. You Must Mean Something

**A.N.****: Yes, this chapter came out pretty fast. But don't expect it to happen too much. I don't always stick to things once I start them. Hopefully, this time, I can.**

**I'm trying very hard to _not _describe this girl. But this chapter she will be, though not entirely well because she is, currently, unhealthy. As in, she never eats. Don't worry, she will be fed. By who? I think that will be answered next chapter.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto._**

**You Must Mean Something**

Ice cold water sprayed across her back, slicing over her shoulder blades and down her prominent spine, the heavy pressure tearing the mud and dirt and muck from her body and sliding down to the dark cement beneath. She curled up in a ball against the freezing black wall to escape the sting, turning her face away as the guard, respectively female, aimed it at her hair. She understood why they were doing this—if she was going to be dragged off to another country, the least she could be was somewhat presentable—but her body reacted and twisted away as far as it could from the pain it wracked throughout her nerves and bones. Once the guard was sure she'd gotten it all, she left to retrieve some clothing, shutting the cell door shut tightly. She bowed her head and slowly relaxed, hugging her knees and resting her chin on her arm, shutting her blood-shot eyes and breathing deeply, an attempt to calm herself.

She was a slave now.

She wasn't leaving much behind. Her friends were few and far between and they had turned on her the moment she was convicted for being a criminal. Understandably, of course. _Nobody _would want to be associated with a person like _that_. And as far as family went, her sisters had moved away and had their own lives to live. She had no place in there. The only thing she would miss would be her house, at the furthest corner of the village, covered with fog and with decorations she had collected over the years. She rolled a bit of her lower lip between her canine, lowering her gaze as the door was unlocked once more. The guard left the clothes folded on the floor, stating bluntly in a gruff voice, "You'll be leaving soon. Get dressed quick." And then she was gone.

No breakfast, obviously. No goodbyes from anyone.

She half wondered how the Sand Village was like, if it was as gloomy and desolate as they said, if it was blistering hot and horribly dry. If the people were as cruel and ugly as they claimed. But the kunoichi from yesterday, the one that had decided her fate, she wasn't ugly. Her skin had been flawless and her hair shiny and fair, wide dark eyes and a strong build. Not a disfigured, burnt-skinned, oily-haired miscreant like she had thought.

She stood up on shaky legs and a fuzzy vision, holding a hand to her stomach where the wound had opened once again, and walked over to the clothes, neat and folded into a square. A flimsy pair of undergarments, black pants and a gray shirt. Nothing flashy and nothing nice. Cotton and somewhat scratchy to the touch. The biggest flaw she could find was its impracticality. It would be hot there, she was sure. And, her being unaccustomed to such heat, would most likely have a stroke wearing _this_. She smiled in spite of herself, smoothing her hands down the shirt and leaning back against the furthest wall. This was going to be made as unpleasant as possible for her.

She would not complain, though. That would only serve to amuse them.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"We're almost there," Sakura announced, hands curled around the cool rail. Her pink hair fluttered in the wind, sea spray and light rain dampening her pallid locks and long cloak. She smiled a closed-lip smile, squinting her emerald eyes as she saw the shape of an island ahead; the Water Country. It was a foggy, dark figure along the horizon, much smaller than she had anticipated, and heavily crowded with what looked like vegetation and jagged rocks.

Lee stretched as he approached, popping his joints and grinning exuberantly as he realized they would be arriving soon. "Then we can meet Temari and take her home safely," he added, leaning his elbows against the same rail and closing his wide eyes as the rain tickled his lashes.

Sakura nodded. "Are you hungry?" At his slight, polite frown, she gave a laugh. "I'm tired of fish, too. But I packed some rice balls, if you'd like to have some."

"If you would not mind," Lee bowed respectfully, stomach growling faintly.

She stepped down into the lower deck, under the roof and reached into her pack for the snacks. They ate together quietly, watching the crew members hurry about to attend to their duties. The sun could've been up, she couldn't quite tell. The sky was so cloudy and the rain fell at a constant, albeit soft, rate, that she could not make out a single beam of light. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself as a few crew members leered at her, and hid behind Lee's much taller frame, obliviously eating the rice ball with an enthusiasm that comforted her. The night before, she had had to curl up close to Lee for all the stares she had gotten, dressed in her customary shorts and tank top to sleep in, hiding beneath the blankets and curling a hand into the side of his shirt, sleeping soundly beside her.

She had never been so repulsed and flattered in her life.

"Sakura," he said, turning to look at her. "You seem troubled..." His tone coaxed her to tell him her problems but she shook her head, pink strands sticking to her cheeks and neck.

"I'm worried about Temari," she lied quickly.

"I am sure she is quite alright," he reassured just as quick, finishing his rice ball. "We will see her soon and she will be safe and healthy."

She smiled and held out a bar of candy, snapping it in half to share.

~~...~~X~~...~~

A long shower eased her nerves some, hugging herself and staring at the tiles across from her, mind disturbingly blank. After the soap was completely washed from her hair and body, she shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping herself up in a towel and moving to the sink to comb out her hair. The reflection showed a solemn, cold face. Her golden complexion had paled some and her verdant eyes were dark and pensive. The silver comb paused as she brushed her hair back, blinking at herself in the mirror and then running a soft pink tongue across her full lips. She had to compose herself. If the Mizukage saw even the slightest hint of hesitation, she would know immediately that something was amiss.

And Temari couldn't afford to be suspected.

She knotted up her hair into four as she always did, drying the rest of her body and slipping on her freshly cleaned clothes. The kimono was crisp against her skin and smelled of flowers and rain—she hoped the smell would fade by the time she got home—and she was thorough in smoothing out every little wrinkle and crease she could find, carefully tying her obi beneath her bust and around her waist, sitting down on the bed to pull on her mesh armor and tie her forehead protector properly. She slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves and stood, fixing her fan into place and double checking the room for anything left behind. After she was sure of herself, she stepped into her newly mended sandals and clasping her cloak into place.

She stepped outside and shut the door behind her, stopping when she was met with a familiar pair of timid eyes. "Good morning," she said after a moment, relaxing from her tense stance.

He bowed, powdery blue hair a mess about his head. Perhaps he had just woken up. "Good morning. The Mizukage is waiting just outside for you. She will see you off."

She nodded in response. "Very well then." He straightened and led her further down the hall, down a few staircases toward the main lobby of the building. She avoided looking out any windows along the way, feeling queasy from all the rain, but found she could no longer avoid it once the main doors were opened and her hair was blown back by a wet breeze and a splattering of cold water kissed her cheeks as if in greeting. She grit her teeth and glowered at the ground, pulling the cloak tighter about herself.

The Mizukage stood outside, a revealing long blue dress, mesh armor, and simple heels being her only protection from the rain, obviously used to the weather. Many of the guards around her were similarly scarcely dressed, wearing shorts or sleeveless shirts and seeming completely unbothered as their hair and clothing was dampened by the droplets falling evenly about. Even the girl, arms once again bound behind her back and head lowered submissively in the middle with guards holding her slight shoulders roughly, seemed unaffected by the icy mist around her. The Mizukage stepped forward, aquamarine eyes bright and kind, smiling warmly.

"I trust you slept well," she said as Temari gave a low, respectful bow and Chojuro immediately stepped behind the lovely woman, falling into his role as her guard dutifully.

"I did, thank you," Temari replied, clutching a fist at the opening of her cloak from within, refraining from pulling on her hoodie.

"Oh, no, thank _you_, my dear," the Mizukage said, waving a manicured hand about and closing her eyes gleefully. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have such a powerful ally. And..." She glanced behind her at the girl tightly constricted by her shinobi. "We wouldn't have such a dangerous criminal off our hands."

The girl did not stir, sopping wet hair darkened and heavy over her bent head. Nobody around her was so completely covered in water like she was, and Temari realized that they may have had her standing out here for far longer than they have. She kept her expression blank and nodded curtly in response to the Mizukage, who smiled once more.

"I should warn you," the Mizukage murmured idly. "She _is _very dangerous. Be careful."

Temari nodded again. "I know how to handle myself, Lady Mizukage."

"I'm well aware. Being the young Kazekage's older sister and the strongest Wind Master in the world certainly makes you eligible for this task. I am not doubting your skills," she assured, crossing her arms and letting a more serious look pass her features. "All I'm saying is too keep a close eye on her. Do not let your guard down for any amount of time."

The warning left a silence behind, and Temari lowered her gaze and nodded quickly in reply. The guards began to move, untying the girl, while another handed Chojuro an object, which he quickly transferred to Temari, gaze averted bashfully. It was a sword, sheathed in a simple and yet elegant black scabbard. She recognized the hilt, the dark silver and the shapes engraved there, and felt her brows pull together in confusion.

"That is the sword of one of my men," the Mizukage said gravely. "He'd gone missing after being sent on a solo mission to execute this criminal. We found it with her and deduced that he had been killed. I want you to take it, and, if you decided to humiliate her as a shinobi of your village, make it her weapon." She leveled her hard gaze heavily on the girl, face downcast and hands clenched at her sides, unwilling to meet the cold, turquoise eyes. "Let her remember the sins she has made. Let her suffer the agony she has brought this country."

Temari held the sword close, eyes wide and stricken. The rain was the only sound for a very long while, every single muscle in every single body tense, and she bowed obediently, if only to hide her expression. "Yes," she finally whispered, "Lady Mizukage."

~~...~~X~~...~~

The girl was silent.

As they headed toward the docks to a waiting ship, she kept a few paces behind Temari, and never once made any abrupt movements. Temari kept her senses on high alert, eyes straight ahead but ears pricked to listen closely. But the girl merely kept quiet and followed her as she was expected to. Temari kept a tight hold on the sword, gritting her teeth. She didn't know how to use a sword, had never been taught to past the very basics. Any quick movements could end in a severed limb, and she wasn't entirely sure _who's _limb it would be, so completely unpracticed in swordsmanship it was pathetic.

She pulled her hood down lower as the rain picked up, the mud sinking beneath her sandals and slopping over as the the heavy droplets wet it once again. The docks came into view, the ocean crashing against the piers and their wooden beams, and Temari refrained from sprinting all the way there, sighing as the mud turned to drenched grass to damp sand. She halted immediately when she was met with two familiar figures, the girl behind her slowing just as quickly.

Sakura Haruno and Rock Lee stood just a few yards away, waiting by the docks for her. Sakura was smiling, hair covered by her hood and gloved hands clasped in anticipation, and Lee was grinning cheerfully beside her, dark eyes bright and welcoming. Temari's brow furrowed and she continued toward them, stopping a few feet away and regarding them with a puzzled expression. "Hello?" she murmured.

Sakura reached into her pack and held out a document for her to read. "Your brother sent us," she said as Temari scanned her eyes over the print. "He had been worried you wouldn't make it back safely."

Temari smiled ruefully. "He always does. Shame on him for doubting me." She handed the document back. "I suppose it's good you came. I may need the support."

"Are you wounded?" the medic asked, emerald eyes widening in worry, hands fluttering in air absently.

Temari shook her head. "She is." She nodded at the girl behind her.

Both of the Leaf's shinobi turned their gazes to the girl. She was frail, drenched from head to toe in rain, short, discolored hair stained by the droplets, now falling quite heavily over them. Her eyes were kept lowered, skin a ghastly, unhealthy pale color. Beneath her dark clothes, sticking to her like a second skin, was an emaciated, cadaverous figure that brought looks of concern to their eyes. Before Temari could further explain, the girl swayed on her thin legs, and was caught by Lee before she could completely fall to the ground. Without another word, Sakura nodded and ushered both Temari and Lee, with the ill-looking girl in his arms, onto the docks and into the ship.

Lee was the one to speak to the captain and pay him for their return back to the Fire Country, and shut the door tightly behind them in the small cabin they now inhabited. _It's better_, Sakura thought, _than the one we shared with the shipmates_. Lee took an extra sheet and laid it over the ground, using his pack as a pillow for the girl and stepping out once more as Sakura began to pick the clothing from the girl, wringing them out over a bucket and hanging them by the furnace with a wire string. Temari pulled off her own cloak and left her things by the wall, leaning over the girl as Sakura knelt down. Both drew back in worry.

The girl's ribcage was prominent, and her breaths were quick and labored. With her hair drying and away from her face, they could see the dark, heavy bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and the pink burning her face from a high fever. There were faint slashes on her arms and the hints of scars down her sides and legs. Her breasts were small, hunger stealing away any fat from her body, and her hips were narrow and jutted from her thin, pale skin. The gap between her thighs was too wide, legs far too thin, and, beneath her skin, various blue and green lines were distinguishable where they shouldn't have been. The most startling feature amongst all the irregularities was the gash there on her stomach, splitting and tearing the flesh, dry blood smeared about her abdomen, stretching up to her ribs and down below her navel. And, as Sakura brought her bare hand over the wound, she could feel the torn nerves, reaching back near her spine and through the lower back. Whoever had done this had missed the lumbar vertebrae by mere millimeters. Any closer and this girl would've lost all feeling from the waist down.

Luck had been on her side.

Temari's eyes widened fractionally as Sakura's hands began to emit a green glow, and then relaxed as she grew accustomed once again. She had seen this only a small number of times, the first being when she had saved Kankuro from his death, and the last when she had attempted to bring Gaara back. From the looks of it—how quickly the muscles began to heal and the wound began to seal—she had gotten much better at it. Methodically, Sakura moved her hand over the girl's small frame, one hand busy at her stomach and the other reaching out and healing the other marks, a bright red against the ghostly pallor of the girl's skin. When she finished, she gestured for Temari to bring her her pack, a slender, white bag that buttoned at the front. Snapping it open, she rummaged through and pulled out a cotton ball and some alcohol, wiping the inner part of the girl's elbow.

"What...?" Temari breathed as Sakura pulled out a needle with a cloudy substance in the veil, popping off the protective cap.

"She needs nutrients," Sakura replied without looking up, sinking the shining needle into the girl's skin deeply and slowly injecting the substance into her bloodstream. Almost immediately, some color came to the girl, veins slightly less noticeable and her breaths a little more even. After pulling the needle out, she healed the puncture wound and wrapped the used needle up in a black cloth and slipped it back inside the pack, standing and fixing the bed for the girl to sleep in. "When she wakes up, we should have an herbal tea ready. I have some medicine for the fever that we can mix into it, and she should be fine. As long as she eats regularly after this."

Temari sighed, leaning back against the wall as Sakura peeled back the sheets and arranged the pillow, lifting the girl onto the bed easily and tucking the blankets around her, up to her chin. "Thank you, Sakura," she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest.

"It's nothing," Sakura murmured, stepping away but keeping her back to Temari. "Just, tell me..." Temari looked up evenly just as Sakura glanced back, emerald locking with teal. "Who is this girl?"

Temari tilted her head back, closing her dark eyes and breathing out slowly, unsure how to go about answering that.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Lee gobbled his food down, racing the crew members sitting around him, all cheering him on or shouting discouragements, crowding around in the rather cramped cafeteria. Sakura sat beside him, sipping her water quietly, turning toward Temari who seemed even less willing to eat, picking at her watery peas and leaning her cheek against her palm. At least, with Temari here, the men were less willing to stare. If they did, the Sand kunoichi would shoot them a glare that burned like a thousand suns and was colder than ice itself. And Temari was very beautiful, skin like gold and hair like silk, the color of wheat in the sunlight, with green, green eyes and long lashes, full lips and a full figure, and the men seemed to see that. But they also seemed to see that she was nowhere near willing to let them ogle, snarling at them and slamming her fist onto the table if she caught them leering for too long. Sakura almost smiled to herself as the woman beside her pointed a chopstick at the throat of a shipmate and narrowed her dark eyes viciously until they scrambled away.

Sakura decided she really did like Temari.

And so she found herself hating the look of remorse heavy on her lovely features. "It couldn't be helped," she reassured. "I'm sure what you're doing is a million times better than what the Mizukage would've done to her."

Temari shook her head, setting down her chopsticks and leaning back in her seat. "In my village, it's considered a fate worse than death. It's almost betrayal to your old country."

"She's not betraying anyone, though," Sakura murmured softly. "They...hadn't wanted her, right?"

Temari rubbed her eyes, gritting her teeth. "They said she was a killer. But I don't believe it. _Look _at her."

And Sakura knew what she meant. The girl, unconscious and still in the cabin, had looked far too feeble to hurt anything, much less _kill _anyone. There were no real muscles developed enough to murder and the scars on her body seemed to be caused by accidents, perhaps slipping as she climbed over rocks or falling from a tree. Nothing at all like that of a killer. Sakura had examined the girl's body only once, but that was plenty to readily conclude that, _no_, the girl _couldn't _be a criminal. She just wasn't cut out to be one. And, as sad as it was to say, she just wasn't _good _enough to be one. She would fail miserably if she tried.

Sakura took another sip of water. "Yeah. I know."

~~...~~X~~...~~

Her eyes snapped open, a haunting, glassy blue, and she gasped, sitting up quickly and sucking the air in frantically. A few long minutes of panting and panicking, and she finally calmed herself, looking around silently. A small ship cabin, with metal walls and floors and one small, round window to her left, by the door which was sealed shut. The sheets and blankets were gray and white, and above her was another bed, from what she could tell, and two blankets made up on the floor for beds. She slipped out of the warm bed, standing and wrapping her arms around her middle against the cold. Her clothing was hung by a small furnace, which was off for the moment, letting the ocean and rain cool the inside of the ship. She pulled the clothes back on, dry and warm now, and fixed the sheets on the bed properly. There was a large iron fan by the door, a folded cloak and pack beside it. A black backpack, a white pack, and two cloaks were kept just a few inches away from it. And then there was that sword, a shining ivory black sheath, laid respectfully on a table on the other side of the cabin.

She stared for a long while, an unwelcome fear overcoming her, twisting in her stomach, and then looked away, opting to sit down on the floor beside the furnace to wait for the shinobi to come back. She pressed her fingers against her abdomen and blinked, lifting her shirt and swallowing down her shock. The wound was completely gone. Not a single trace it had ever been there left behind. She placed a trembling hand over it and quickly pulled it away, fixing her shirt and crossing her arms. She could deal with that. She could accept it. But she couldn't wrap her mind around it.

Footsteps caught her attention, but she stayed seated, sure that if she were standing, it could look like a threat. The clang of the lock being undone resounded through the small cabin, and the heavy door was pushed in, one boot stepping inside, and then a hint of a slender thigh, and then a pink-haired girl with green eyes that reminded her of stained glass lit from behind. She wore a red zip-up, sleeveless shirt, a pink skirt made up of slits and buckles on the sides, black shorts beneath it, and a red forehead protector that had the symbol of a leaf as a headband. They stared at one another for a moment, before the kunoichi smiled. "You're awake. That's good." She stepped in further and made her way to the white pack, rifling through it for something.

The blonde-haired kunoichi came next, carrying a cup and two packets of tea, wearing a black, short-sleeved kimono with a bright red obi and mesh armor leggings with black sandals. She moved to the small table and set down the cup, followed by a boy that shut the door behind them. _He _looked very odd, and she felt her brows pull together very slightly. His hair was black and glossy, a bowl cut with a red forehead protector above thick black brows. His eyes were dark and wide and he had long lashes. He wore a bright green jumpsuit, a forest green flak jacket, orange legwarmers, black sandals, and had white bandages around his forearms, wrapped from his knuckles to just a few inches shy of his elbow. He smiled brightly and said, in a friendly voice, "Hello, I am Rock Lee."

She gave a blank, curt nod and he held up a tea kettle, seeming unbothered despite the fact that steam rolled off it thickly. "Tea," the Sand kunoichi supplied. "To help your fever."

_Do I have a fever?_ She placed a hand over her forehead, pressed the backs of her fingers against her cheeks, and was faced with a feeling of chagrin as she realized that, _yes_, she most certainly did have one.

As this "Rock Lee" poured the hot water into the cup, the pink-haired one stood and shook out some pills from a bottle, obviously the medic in the group. "We haven't properly introduced ourselves," the Sand kunoichi said, drawing her attention. "I am Temari of the Sand, and this is Sakura Haruno." She nodded to the medic, sinking the packets of tea into the hot water carefully.

At her silence, Lee looked up, setting the tea kettle on the table, further away. "What is your name?" he prompted gently. Temari's teal eyes cut to hers quickly.

"Number 6—" She shook her head. "Gin. My name is Gin." His thick brows furrowed but he accepted her answer.

"Nice to meet you, Gin." She lowered her gaze and nodded.

After a few minutes, Sakura lifted the cup and handed it to her. "Drink. You should be falling asleep soon once the medicine kicks in. And then your body will begin to fight the fever." Gin took the cup and drank slowly, reveling in the burn of the tea rolling through her body, the taste of mint filling her senses, and when she finished, her eyes were heavy and her breaths were slow. Lee smiled again kindly and took the cup from her, helping her stand. He began to guide her to the bed again but she resisted, weakly, and crawled into one of the makeshift beds on the floor, hardly able to pull the covers on before she passed out completely, the world going black and her mind fading.

~~...~~X~~...~~

The two Leaf shinobi parted halfway, where the thick vegetation of the Fire Country met the deserted sands of the Wind. It was a sweet parting and they were polite, bidding them both farewell and good luck. Temari smiled and said, "I don't feel a storm coming. We should be there by tomorrow morning."

Sakura nodded and handed her a tiny blue pack. "Some ingredients your village can use," she explained as Temari tucked it into her obi.

"Thank you," Temari replied. "The both of you."

Gin had remained silent. She had not spoken a single word past one-worded, clipped answers since they left the ship. It was unclear from her blank face and clouded, glassy blue eyes, but she was uncomfortable in the new setting, hot wind whipping her hair across her face and grains of burning sand scratching her skin and eyes. The dark clothing she wore attracted heat and she was blistering beneath them, trying to control her breaths. She nodded quietly when they said goodbye to her and watched them leave, turning to follow Temari out into the desert, the sand slipping and shifting beneath her bare feet, scorching in the sun, scathing the soles of her feet and ankles, hiding her grimace and biting back her pain. She kept a few paces behind Temari, carefully letting her presence be known in the peripheral vision of those teal eyes, which she knew watched her closely.

None of them had noticed her lack of shoes, which was fine. She needed to get used to the torturous heat of the desert and this was quickest way to do so, by suffering through it. She knew that well enough. Sweat rolled down her forehead and down her stomach and arms, sticking the sand to her and dampening her clothes, locks of her hair plastered to her forehead and neck.

_I need a haircut_, she thought grudgingly, keeping her eyes down as desert haze blurred her vision.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Dark brown eyes greeted her at the entrance of her home, walls scattered with watchful shinobi, the shadows of the walls inviting. She huffed and gave a forced smile, which he did not return. "I was going to say 'welcome home'," Kankuro said, tilting his head to the side. "But I got distracted..."

In his sister's arms was a skinny girl, passed out, face reddened with fever. The girl's hair was chin-length, wavy, and silvery in the blistering sun, with extremely pale skin and thin, thin limbs. She wore dark clothing and no shoes, her feet burnt and scratched and covered with blisters. He quickly decided she had passed out from the heat and would need medical attention immediately. He did not ask his sister who the girl was, or why she carried her with her. If she had found just anyone in the desert, she would've dragged them to a shaded spot and left them water. Not bring them all the way home with her. Temari never wasted unnecessary energy. But he did not question her—after all she _was _his older sister, and _always _stressed that fact. He walked forward and took the girl from her arms, too light and too bony to be healthy. Her head fell against his arm and her hands were limp, one draped across her stomach and the other hanging at her side.

"Go report back to Gaara," Kankuro told her as she unclasped her cloak and handed it to a shinobi nearby. "He's been worried sick."

"What about—" she began to protest but he shook his head.

"I'll take her to the hospital," he said. "Just go." He turned and hurried down the passageway, making a right as she continued straight down toward the Kazekage Building. He adjusted the girl as he slipped past villagers, jumping up onto a store and hopping from building to building until he landed atop the hospital, opening the roof door and running down the stairs, holding her closer as her head bobbed against his arm. He was met with a young nurse the minute he was in the hallways, and demanded she find a doctor. Whoever this girl was, she had to be pretty important for Temari to be so worried about her. And he did not leave until she was treated, staying seated by her side until she woke.

Because Temari _never _cared about _anyone _unless they meant anything.

And this girl must've meant something.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: The title is cheesy, yes. I couldn't think of another one, forgive me.**

**I'm sleepy, so I edited this in a hurry, don't judge. The very first review to this was scarily accurate. Yes, there _is _another side to the girl. Good. Good. You noticed. I like that.**

**Next chapter, this story will officially start up. **

**So, please review and I'll get that out when I can.**


	3. A Sense of Dread

**A.N.****: This took a bit, sorry. I got side tracked and I've been busy the last few days. But I'll be getting to work on this a little harder from now on now that I have the chance.**

**This story is kicking off and I'm sorry if anything seems too farfetched (tell me when it is, please). I'm really trying my hardest to make an interesting character while at the same time trying **_**not **_**to focus on her too much. But, at least Gaara's a part of this now. So, look forward to that. **

**Now that I'm reading this over again (editing, because I am a perfectionist) I'm seeing that Temari is also a really big part of this and I hadn't planned on that. But, I'm beginning to understand that they will soon form a bond—Temari and this character, Gin—because they interact quite a lot more than I had originally intended them to. Haha, oops.**

**The hardest part of all of this is writing a damn title for every chapter. I can write an entire story but for some reason, never a title. I'm so weird. And then the title some times doesn't even make sense. What if I titled this, "Carrots Taste Good"? I think you'd all stop reading.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own **_**Naruto**_**. I do, however, own a pillow pet. Yeah. I do. Jealous?**

**A Sense of Dread**

He kept his hands folded in his lap, pale green eyes downcast as the silence drew on a little longer than either of them were comfortable with. A dozen thoughts passed through his mind as he twiddled his thumbs absently, mulling over the information that had just been thrown at him. His robe was a milky white, pristine and crisp, and the robe beneath was a rich green, worn over his customary outfit, should there be any danger in his village and he needed to change quickly, which hasn't happened in quite a while. His pallid fingers interlocked and his brow furrowed, a creasing of his smooth, porcelain skin, lips turning down ever so slightly. He could not grasp a single thought slipping through his mind, try as he may, and found himself empty-handed each time he did, his patience thinning slowly. But he was not an impatient man. Not anymore, anyway.

"Please say something," she begged, teal eyes pleading and troubled. She clutched a sword he did not recognize to her chest, fingers tightly wrapped around a smooth black sheath and a dark silvery hilt pressing against her shoulder. She could not take the silence any longer. Her baby brother wasn't a man of many words, reserved and rather taciturn compared to his older siblings, and really many of his own friends. But she needed help, she needed his wisdom, because despite how so very young he was, he was full of it, mind one of clarity and depth she could never fathom. Different, she'd say, than the intelligence of the strategical shinobi from the Leaf. More insightful.

His eyes searched her face, a grape green color, soulful and sorrowful, perhaps measuring her emotions before speaking. "This hasn't been done since father was still the Kazekage," he murmured, leaning back in his chair and dragging long fingers through his auburn hair. He stood from his seat and walked around his desk to the bookshelves kept beside the door, his sister watching him intently with unsure eyes. He picked a book, brown and bound by inelegant material, flipping through it until he found the page he wanted and holding it out for his sister to read. She took it hesitantly with one hand, the other firmly holding the sword. "He was a shinobi from a small village in the Lightning Country that had tried to steal some information," he said as she scanned the contents on the page. "After being captured, he gave himself up in place of his teammates, who were allowed to leave back to their village with the news of their comrade's situation."

She frowned, handing the book back to him. "What happened to him?" she asked.

Gaara slid the book back into place, clear green eyes lowering slowly. "He was left unsupervised one night," he replied. "He committed suicide."

Temari looked down quickly, blood rushing away from her face, cheeks paling. "I... I see," she whispered faintly.

After a few minutes, arranging the documents on his desk and putting away his things in the drawers, he finally asked, "Where is she?"

She watched him water the plant on his desk and seal the window shut tighter, the winds settling outside as the sun set slowly, casting the room in orange and pink hues. "She's... Kankuro took her to the hospital," she said, and then held the sword out. "This is hers."

The way her eyes darkened, thin blonde brows coming together slowly, told him she was keeping something from him, but he did not pester her any further. "You're not comfortable with slavery," he stated, and she shook her head quickly in response. He took the sword from her, a carefully polished sheath with an intricately carved hilt, and nodded slowly. "Then she will be one of our shinobi."

His smile was small and kind and it resurfaced her insecurities, hands clasped at her chest, over her heart. "Gaara..." she mumbled. "I... I didn't mean to do this to her."

He placed a hand on her shoulder tentatively, turning her toward the door and opening it ahead of her. "I'm sure she knows that," he assured, guiding her outside and shutting the door behind them. He walked beside her, nodding to any shinobi who bowed to him respectfully. "Don't worry too much over it. She'll understand one day."

She glanced at the sword held in his right hand, tried to push away the sadness that came with it, the story behind it, and sighed as she realized she couldn't. Not completely. "Her name is Gin. She's...unhealthy..." At his puzzled look, she hurried on to explain, "When you see her, you'll understand what I mean."

They stepped outside, into the stuffy warmth of the early evening, the streets filling with fellow villagers and meandering shinobi. Street lamps flickered on and a soft hum of conversation began in the steadily cooling air. The hospital was further down, a few streets away, a greenhouse kept around the back for medicine. Some nurses were heading home for the day and some were heading in for the night shift, passing them as they walked, tired smiles on their faces. The breeze fluttered his hair, glowing red in the setting sun, shadows curving down his cheeks.

"I'm serious," she said, breaking the silence, staring down at her feet. "You'll get worried."

He nodded. Temari never worried about people unless they were special. That was something he'd learned growing up, as both her teammate and her brother.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Temari was right.

The girl was even paler than he was, with silvery hair cut unevenly about her face, messy curls hanging in her face. Her eyes were a pallid blue, but were unfocused and glassy, sclera faintly red from exhaustion, with dark bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her features were much too sharp and her lips were chapped, red lines upon them that would bleed if she ran her tongue over them. She wore the standard hospital pajamas, thin sheets crumpled about her lap and the pillow slightly askew. She breathed rather roughly if she spoke too much—the nurses asked her questions about her health before letting the room be filled by the Kazekage and his older sister—and rubbed her eyes when she glanced up at the fluorescent lights, apparently too bright for her. From the v-shaped collar of the shirt, he could see her collarbone stick out from her skin in ways it shouldn't have. And a dark pink tinged her cheeks in a sign of a fever, sweat dribbling down her forehead which she wiped at with the backs of thin hands, fingers trembling.

He did get very worried.

His brother sat in the stool set up beside the bed, having been in a mostly one-sided conversation when they had been guided in by a friendly nurse, and stood when the door had been closed and they were left alone together, the four of them. His brown hair was messy, perhaps from him pulling at it, something he did when he was exasperated, and his chocolate eyes seemed vaguely vexed, if not anxious, and only warmed slightly when Temari placed a light hand on his shoulder. And the girl, who had lied back down, remained silent, staring up at the ceiling and controlling her breaths.

"She won't talk," Kankuro said under his breath to them. "No matter what I do, she won't say anything. It took the nurses almost an hour to get her to respond to their questions and even then..." He looked down and shook his head, gritting his teeth.

Gaara's head tilted to the side in confusion, eyes moving back to the girl's slight form. Her wrists were knobby, thin, and her fingers were spindly and long, delicate. Her lashes, a stark black against the lighter colors, moved quickly as she traced the ceiling's patterns, mouth firmly shut as if it had never opened a day in her life. His brow furrowed, and he looked away as Temari stepped away from the both of them, toward the girl.

"Gin," she murmured, standing beside the bed. Ghostly blue flickered to shadowed teal, blinking blankly. "How are you? Are you hurt?"

A few seconds ticked by before Gin finally shook her head slowly.

A faint smile curved Temari's lips, and both her younger brothers perked up at the action, curiosity overcoming them, but unsure whether they should come closer. "I really am sorry," Temari confessed, shutting her eyes and curling her hands into fists. "I didn't mean to do this to you."

A full minute passed, in which Gaara was almost sure Gin would not respond, a dripping from the IV the only sound, attached to the back of her right hand. The liquid inside the bag was not clear, and he vaguely wondered what it was, turning back toward the door to ask a nurse, but a voice cut him off, raspy and faint from disuse. "Do what?" she asked, glassy eyes half-lidded and tired.

"Bring you here," Temari said. "To this village. As a...slave..."

Gin shook her head, moving to sit up, only to have Temari's hand stop her, pressing down on her shoulder. "I was set to be killed," she mumbled, relenting and letting herself be settled back into the pillow. "It wasn't going to happen immediately. I was going to be in prison for a long time. And when Lady Mizukage decided the time was right, she would have executed me herself." Her dazed eyes moved over Temari's stricken face, verdant eyes wide and disbelieving. "Any fate would have been better than that. Don't be sorry, miss."

Gaara watched his sister's head bow, arms wrapping around herself. "I..." she began, but let it drop immediately, her hands falling back to her sides, slack now. "These are my brothers." She turned, and he quickly hid his reaction at her expression, emotions withdrawn and eyes dark, stepping forward along with his brother. "Kankuro and Gaara."

"You brought me here," Gin acknowledged, sitting up anyway despite Temari's halfhearted protestations.

"I did," Kankuro replied, the very traces of his anxiety still tightening his tone. "You weren't talking..."

Gin looked down at the needle in her hand, her other fingers twitching toward it hesitantly. "I suppose I was in shock." She licked her lips with a pale tongue and, like Gaara had thought, they began to bleed. She showed no reaction to it, ignoring it entirely. But he saw her jaw tense very slightly, thin brows pulling together and cloudy eyes darkening a few shades. "I think I have a fever." She pressed her fingers against her forehead lightly and sighed, shutting her eyes.

"The medicine didn't work," Temari murmured, and then blinked in surprise and reached into her obi, pulling out a little blue pack.

Kankuro watched his sister as he spoke. "That, and you were dehydrated. The desert really took its toll on you." He gestured to some clothing folded atop a chair by the window. "Your clothes were too dark for someone as unaccustomed as you to this heat. And you weren't wearing any shoes. Your feet are full of bruises and blisters right now. They attached you to an IV, obviously, to get more liquid in your system."

Gaara glanced at his brother. _She's starving_, he thought. _Her body needs food and rest and she hasn't gotten either_. He looked down at the sword in his hand thoughtfully.

"This," Temari said, holding out the pack to Gaara. "Sakura Haruno gave me this, a list of medical ingredients."

"Give it to a medic," Gaara said to Kankuro. "See that they make the proper medicine for this girl." After a thought, he added, "And send a thank you letter to the Haruno girl. She has contributed far more to this village than we have given her credit for." Kankuro took the pack and left, shutting the door behind him.

Gin eyed him silently, from his pristine robes to his messy red hair to the kanji on his forehead. "Kazekage," she said impassively, nodding absently in respect, seeming to understand from his attire alone his position in the Village Hidden in the Sand. "I am your village's slave, known widely in the Water Country as Number 621, nicknamed Gin. Pleasure to meet you." He couldn't tell if she was joking, but from her expression, she was entirely serious. And yet he felt his sister flinch beside him.

He pressed his lips together in a line. "Gin. What were your crimes?" He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she was a criminal. She didn't look remotely capable of anything so strenuous. But he wasn't one to judge by someone's looks alone. After all, as a child, hadn't _he _looked entirely too innocent and small? Hadn't _he _been every bit as unassuming, if not more?

"I have accusations of treachery against my village, murder of innocents, and theft of valuable treasure." She looked down, turning her left palm up. A black mark was tattooed there, the number she had mentioned earlier. "This is my number from my time in prison. Proof." She held it out for them to see, but Temari turned away and walked to the door, gaze lowered.

"I'll go ask the doctor how long you'll be here," she said aloud. When she passed Gaara, she whispered, so the girl could not hear, "Just tell her what we're going to do with her. I can't." She was out the door and into the halls before he could reply.

He could hear the dripping of the IV, the faint footsteps of bustling nurses through the hallways, wheels rolling over linoleum and a hush murmuring from doctors, perhaps telling a family member of a patient's condition. He suddenly wondered how she felt, knowing nobody here _really _cared to know how she was, that nobody she _really _knew was going to visit her. Did it pain her? Did it bother her?

If it did, her expression did not show it.

"She is your older sister," Gin stated indifferently, fingers curling around the sheets. She wasn't trying to make small talk, he could tell. She was only trying to clarify her thoughts, her understanding. She seemed well aware of the fact that she would have to know these things in order to function in the village. "And that other boy—Kankuro, it was—is your older brother, making you the youngest in three siblings."

"Yes," Gaara said shortly. "Our parents are deceased. It's just the three of us." It didn't trouble him as much as it used to, that fact. Their father was never a large part of their everyday lives, and their mother had passed away when he was born. He had only just recently become close to his siblings—perhaps it was only five years ago that he had decided to reach out to them for support. But he found he didn't miss having his father around, despite him having atoned for his wrongdoings to Gaara as a child. He felt like, really, they were already family as they were. He didn't dare ask for any more than that.

She nodded to herself slowly, pallid eyes lowering. "I see."

After a moment, he asked, politely, "Do you have any family?"

She tilted her head to the side, her left ear cocked upward slightly and eyes slanting down to the side minutely. "Yes. A rather large family. Just girls." She spoke in a clipped tone, dispassionate and almost apathetic. "They won't miss me, I'm certain."

He didn't pry. He had no place in asking about such personal things, just as she had not ventured further into his life than she already had. "Temari was very worried," he murmured, walking around the bed and toward the window. The sun had already set by now, the sky a deep purple, nearly a solid blue, the winds having calmed enough to allow the stars to be seen, twinkling gently. The moon, however, was nowhere to be seen. "She had thought you would've been angry at the situation she placed you in."

"Certainly not," Gin responded smoothly. "In truth, I'm quite grateful."

Gaara nodded to himself, eyes pensive as he watched the fleeting shadows of his shinobi flick across the sky, attending to their duties. "I told her as such. I hadn't wanted to presume."

"Then allow me to be presumptuous as well, Kazekage," she said deliberately. He turned back slowly, a sense of misplaced dread flickering briefly through him. Her icy blue eyes focused for the first time, unwaveringly locked with his pale green, watching him intently. But all she said was, "That sword you're carrying. It's a symbol, is it not?"

He knew immediately what she meant, taking a step forward and lifting the sword before him. "She couldn't bear the thought of you becoming a slave. And I don't want that kind of a burden on my shoulders," he said. "My father was also Kazekage, before me, and I had witnessed him struggle to keep enemy shinobi in check that way. In keeping to a sort of promise I had given my sister, you will not be a slave." Her expression remained unchanged, blinking blankly when he held out the sword to her. "You will be one of our shinobi."

She reached out hesitantly, brow furrowing very slightly. When her fingers wrapped around the sheath, black and shining, her eyes darkened considerably. She laid the sword across her lap carefully, keeping her gaze down. "Are you sure, Kazekage?" she asked placidly. "I have no previous training. I am not properly practiced in the specific abilities of a shinobi."

"I'm well aware," Gaara said, stepping around the bed and toward the door. "My sister will teach you the basics. Whichever skill you show to be the most successful at after two weeks will be the one you will focus on, and from there you will be given the proper training."

"Two weeks," Gin stated, "surely couldn't be long enough."

"It is my understanding that you were classified as a highly dangerous criminal," he countered calmly, pausing in reaching for the door. _Of course, _he thought, _I don't entirely believe it_. "That must entitle you to _some _form of skill. However small it might be."

She remained silent.

"We do not have time to waste as it is," Gaara continued. "The village is very busy rebuilding from previous attacks and solidifying previously broken alliances. The quicker we can strengthen our defenses, the better."

"I understand, Kazekage, sir," she replied softly.

"Very well then. I assume you're due to bed rest. Tomorrow you will begin your training. I will arrange a living quarters for you in one of our spare apartments, near our home so that my sister may meet with you easily." He opened the door and stepped outside. "Now go to sleep. Your fever will not go away if you continue to overexert yourself." With that, he shut the door and turned down the hall.

Temari sat on a bench just outside the room, head leaned back against the wall. Nurses passed her by but she did not look up. "So?" she mumbled as he approached evenly.

"Get some rest. You will begin training her tomorrow." She shot up, nearly startling him, his eyes widening slightly.

"So soon?" she nearly yelled.

"Please lower your voice, Temari," Gaara muttered, raising his hands to appease the worried nurses.

"She needs to recover, Gaara," Temari replied, letting him turn her to walk her down the hall. "She doesn't feel well. And she faints walking even a mile. That's... That's bad, Gaara. That's really bad."

"I suppose I do see your point," he admitted, and then asked," How long did the doctor say she'd be there?"

"Just for tonight," Temari murmured, looking down. "Kankuro got some medics to make the medicine and study the other ingredients, so they'll be giving her the medicine once it's done. They expect her to make full recovery, just as long as she eats regularly...just like Sakura said."

Gaara nodded silently, holding the door open for his sister so they could walk down the flight of stairs to the first floor. "It would be wise to follow her advice. The girl does seem a bit...thin, to put it lightly. A steady diet will do her good."

Many of the patients and nurses greeted him as they passed, some even stopping them to praise him, before Temari began to tug on his sleeve and pull him away. Once they were outside, the cool desert night soothing them, he turned to her once more. The lights were bright and cheery at night, whereas, during the day, the village seemed dull and lifeless. Paper lanterns were hung up by children to make up for lost time, strung between houses and illuminating the streets with gentle colors. A warm hum settled over once more, people talking and laughing together as they enjoyed the outside without the fear of a sand storm blowing over or the blistering heat burning them. But, really, all Gaara seemed to see right then was the sadness in his big sister's deep green eyes. They glistened in ways that alarmed him, and his hands raised to comfort her, but stopped as he became aware of the fact that he wasn't entirely sure _how _to go about doing so. She was never the kind of person to seek help.

"Temari..." he began, but found himself trailing off slowly, uncertain, for once, of what to say.

"I don't want to push her, Gaara," she muttered, wiping furiously at her eyes. "She'll break if I do." Her teeth clenched, shining pasty colors from the lanterns. "I don't know _why _I care, but something _about _her...reminds me of..." She couldn't finish, placing a hand over her eyes.

After a few long minutes, he placed an arm around her shoulders, tentative, hesitant, and led her down the streets silently. He could offer her nothing, not even the slightest bit of solace, so unaccustomed to this side of her. Temari never became emotional, never lost control of herself. She was forever the cruel and calculating kunoichi that she was so famous for being, although her softer side was always present at home, it never reached a level where she became like _this_, so longing for forgiveness. And he supposed that was where this guilt stemmed from, palpable in her eyes. She might have felt that that girl, a girl with an unfortunate reputation and a detached and cold disposition, was the manifestation of all of her errors, all her mistakes, and she must've felt that it was all her fault that the girl had suffered as she had. And he didn't know how to explain to her that, _no_, _of course it wasn't _your _fault_. Because Gaara had never _seen _this side of her.

No one had.

~~...~~X~~...~~

The medicine tasted bitter on her tongue, a flavor that made her body tense and recoil in disgust, but she drank it obediently as the doctor instructed, refraining from licking her lips in fear of knowing the taste lingered there on her skin. Methodically, the doctor went about checking her body for wounds once more, but most, if not all, had been healed on the journey—by Sakura Haruno, the Leaf kunoichi—cold fingers pressing along her flesh. The doctor was a man of average build, a squared jaw with a hint of a beard and dark brown hair combed back in a way that was carefully pleasing to the eye. He made small talk, to which she hardly bothered to reply to.

She was too tired, muscles thrumming with exhaustion and mind numbing with sleepiness. The medicine made her groggy, limbs heavy and eyes unfocused, breathing deeply as her fever seemed to flare up dangerously and then cool down slowly. It was a moment of panic in her system, fingers digging into the papery thin sheets beneath her and then growing slack as fatigue settled over her once more, only much more easily and smoothly, like water slowly sliding down glass. The doctor asked more questions, scribbling down notes on a clipboard and speaking to the nurses adjusting the blankets idly, but she couldn't hear him so well anymore. And when he looked at her with kindly concerned eyes, he smiled at length and said, sounding foggy to her, "Rest well. Lord Kazekage expects great things from you."

And the world fell to black, immediately, with only a subtle tinge of confusion.

_But I'm only a petty criminal. How did I get here again? _

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Ready?"

"Hardly."

Kankuro snickered, bringing up his cup of tea to sip from. They sat around the breakfast table, readying for the day. Temari sat beside him and Gaara sat at the end, eating his breakfast and reading over some documents that been delivered earlier in the morning.

Kankuro, as always, had cooked a delicious meal, just some milky soup and baked bread, brewing some white tea to go along with it and setting them out accordingly. His hair was still damp from his quick shower, waiting for his siblings to wake, and he had yet to apply his face paint on, pulling his sleeves down properly and leaning his elbow on the table to watch his sister fidget with her red obi. "You seem nervous," he commented lightly, although they could all hear the underlying sense of seriousness in his tone. He was every bit as aware as his baby brother how much this bothered her.

Gaara shifted, setting down his work and moving behind Temari, pushing away her hands and fixing her obi for her, straightening the folds and smoothing away the creases she had made, knotting it easily and going back to his food. "Thank you," she murmured softly, and then moved on to comb her damp hair, knotting them up in a practiced manner that no longer required a mirror. When her fingers caught within a gray band, pulling the stands out of place, both her younger brothers sighed in unison. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she grumbled, yanking it out and fixing it.

"If you can't do this, I'll let Kankuro do it instead, until you feel you are absolutely ready," Gaara offered, straightening the papers and casting them aside, finished with them.

She shook her head stubbornly. "No. This is my responsibility. I brought her here, I'll train her."

Kankuro tilted his head, scratching behind his ear idly. "That is, until you find her strong point. Then it won't be up to you anymore." He'd always been the most blunt out of the three of them—though, of course, all of them were exceptionally, even brutally honest—but Kankuro seemed even more so, uncaring of whose feelings he was hurting. Even Temari's.

But she seemed to understand, knowing full well he was merely saying the truth, harsh as it was to her. "I _know _that," she replied, looking down. "I don't care how long it takes, I have to make it up to her."

"She doesn't blame you," Gaara murmured, almost an afterthought of a comment, and she merely gave a faint smile. She reached over and ruffled his auburn hair, an unexpected display of affection, and stood from her seat.

Before Kankuro could open his mouth to complain about her not eating, she stole his bread, kissing his chocolate hair hanging over his brow quickly. "Don't worry about me," she said as they fell silent, pecking Gaara's forehead in turn. "I'll handle this on my own." With that, she was walking down the hallway, taking a bite out of the bread and picking up her fan to fix behind her back, pulling on her sandals and slipping out the door into the cool air of the early morning.

Her two brothers stared at each other, nonplussed.

Kankuro shrugged flippantly. "She'll be back to normal soon."

Gaara looked away, drinking his tea quietly. He wasn't so sure about that.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: I always like to pretend that Kankuro is an awesome cook.**

**Gin is very skinny because she's obviously had a pretty difficult life and had never had all that much money to get food. She lived by an ocean and fished a lot, but fish is scarce when it rains, which it often does. And she caught a fever because of that rain, spending too much time outside and because she almost drowned in the ocean. Her body, right now, is very feeble.**

**The relationship between her and Gaara is very strained right now, considering he doesn't know her, doesn't trust her, and doesn't yet understand why she's considered a criminal—no one does, but you will soon—and he's not quite sure why she is the way she is. But the relationship between Temari and her is quite different. Because Temari feels responsible of Gin, she will quite usually try to look after Gin and teach her things. Both relationships will grow. And with Kankuro? I'll have to build one from what I have so far. **

**Also, I think Sakura will have some part in this as well. Gin is grateful for her, so she means at least _something _to her.**

**Anyway, please review, and I'll be working on the next chapter soon.**


	4. Do You Remember?

**A.N.****: I have to keep scribbling down on post-it notes for this story. I randomly keep getting ideas. I think I almost have this all planned out. Not quite sure just yet.**

**Anyway, so this chapter will have a very brief insight into her past, as well as the beginning of her transaction into the shinobi world. Plus, some more interaction with Gaara.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto_.**

**Do you remember? **

She stepped into the legs of the thin shorts, pulling it up to her hips and zipping it up, keeping her eyes lowered as she adjusted it to fit her better. The clothing was a little loose on her, one side of the shorts sliding down one hip and the shirt low around her collarbone. They were light colored, a pair of beige shorts and a sky blue t-shirt. They were lent to her by the lovely kunoichi, Temari, who was a little taller than her, a little fuller, making the shirt a little longer on her than it should've been, hanging over her hips, but she didn't mind it. She preferred it, to be honest. It allowed her movement that normal clothing did not. But the sandals were a different matter. They did not fit. They slipped off easily from her feet. And she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to walk around barefoot again, feet wrapped up in bandages and warm with the soft burning of the ointment covering the wounds left over.

The hospital room was unlit this early, and the curtains were left open for the weak yellow light to stream through, allowing just enough light for her to move about in. Sunrise was not for another hour or so, making time extremely valuable, something to cherish before the overwhelming heat overtook the village once more. The tiles beneath were an off-white, cold under her feet, which were turned inwards slightly beside the stark black sandals that were a size too big. She stared silently down at them, mind blank and eyes empty, unsure what to do now that she was alone, the faint vibrations of the air conditioning around her.

Temari had stopped by to leave the clothes at the end of the bed, smiling kindly and telling her that she'd be waiting at the front of the hospital once she finished dressing, apologizing if they weren't her size and explaining that she had been in too much of a hurry to buy her some instead. Her kimono was neat and clean and dark, her poppy red obi tied immaculately around her slender waist, beneath her ample bust, her wheat blonde hair combed nicely into four ponytails. Her teal eyes had been warm and gentle and her lips had curved up into a friendly smile, murmuring a soft, "Good morning, Gin," which resounded through her mind even now, gaze moving over the tiles listlessly.

Gin raised her head minutely, turning her glassy eyes to the open window in the dull darkness of the hospital room, behind which she could hear desert birds chirp cheerily and the faint whispering of small talk just outside. She couldn't remember the last time someone had told her good morning, or the last time someone had looked at her so benevolently, without the slightest hint of malice to be found anywhere. Her lips parted and she let out a silent breath. It made something ache within her chest, there and gone before she could focus on it.

She picked the sandals up from the ground, held between her thin fingers, taking the sword in the other hand and stepping out of the room, bowing as a nurse greeted her and making her way to the stairs, silently pondering the activities around her, doctors speaking to patients and nurses changing sheets. Her bare feet padded mutely against the cool tiles, eyes set straight. The staircase was located behind a particular gray door, and was dimly lit from above by a fluorescent light, steps cold and metallic, the rail thin but sturdy. There was a faint ache in her muscles, but it was easy to ignore, enough so that when she made it to the bottom, she'd almost forgotten she'd felt it at all. The reception desk was but a few meters to her left, and the entrance to her right, made of clean glass that gave her a view of who approached and passed by. Temari stood just outside, gazing thoughtfully up at the morning sky.

When she pushed open the entrance doors, Temari glanced back, teal eyes warming slightly. "They are a bit loose on you. When we finish, we can buy you some clothes and I can show you your apartment. That sound good?"

Gin nodded mutely, and then held the sandals out to Temari.

"They didn't fit you?" she asked, to which Gin shook her head. "I suppose I expected that. We don't have much time, so I guess today you'll just be running barefoot. If that's alright."

"I don't mind," Gin replied, an almost rehearsed response. She did mind, actually. But she was used to things being difficult, and she had no right to be complaining. She never did. "May I ask, how long will it be?"

"I want to start off the way I was started off, in the beginning." Temari's face took up a more somber expression, teal eyes locking with hers seriously. "I won't be gentle and I won't go easy. I will teach you the way this village teaches everyone. Ruthlessly."

Gin blinked back at her silently. "I understand."

Temari turned and began to walk down the street, expecting Gin to follow. "Good, then. Just this once, I'll give you my rules. After today, I'm not going to repeat myself. You need to memorize them as best as you can."

"Yes, ma'am."

"When I show you things," Temari began, "I'll show you once. If you mess up, I'll help you twice, but after that, you're on your own."

"Yes, ma'am."

~~...~~X~~...~~

The first task was to run a mile. There was no time limitation, but she was timed anyway, to see where she was currently. She had to run without stopping, and any time she walked, it was marked against her. She could rest afterward, but she had to finish and she had to finish _running_. That was it. It wasn't a lot to ask, but it was still difficult for her to manage. She could see the distance she had to run, and it seemed to her almost impossible, standing uncertainly at the starting point with her hands curled into fists and her brows pulled together very slightly, measuring her chances mentally and sighing as she realized how she would fare at her current health.

She turned her cerulean, unfocused eyes to the kunoichi sitting off to the side. Her fan was leaned against the stone bench, a black sword just beside it, her golden legs crossed primly, leaning back on her hands and watching her carefully. There was a silver watch hanging around her neck by a black rope necklace, a clipboard settled beside her, patiently waiting for Gin to begin.

But there was a sudden sense of discomfort that overcame her, looking back over at the track she had to run. Four times. She had to run it four times in order to match a mile. Stretching her arms out, she tested herself, rolling her foot in a semi circle on her ankle and feeling her muscles strain in her calf and thigh. It wasn't all that much that she couldn't run fast enough—she'd spent the past few years running away from things, teaching herself to be quick, to be agile—but more that her body was too worn out to do so _willingly_. Adrenaline had been her companion all those times, fueling her, pushing her, fear driving her to limits her body should not have been pushed to, fleeing from pain and from judgment. Now, she had to run _without _those things, _without _a real reason, and she wasn't entirely positive that she _could_. Hunger had made her body thin, neglect had made her muscles weak, and her fears had made her wary. Could she _really _run this? She wasn't sure. But she had to try.

She controlled her breaths, clearing her mind. She wouldn't put all of her energy into the first lap. That would steal away everything and she would surely pass out from exhaustion. Sure, she'd eaten breakfast, but it did nothing for her. Her body had taken it, broken it down properly, divested it of its nutrients to distribute throughout her system, and it currently thrummed through her now. The first lap would burn away that energy immediately. Perhaps, if she could just imagine she was going to be hurt, she could do this right. But that was more difficult to do than she wanted to admit.

Glancing at Temari, she nodded very slightly, a sign that she was finally ready, and began to run. A steady jog, one that Temari noted to be quite effective to preserve energy, letting out breaths through her mouth and breathing through her nose. Her heart immediately responded, kicking into a quick beat that left her breathless, almost slowing her down. If she focused on that feeling, pretended that it was the sword of a man that was now dead, floating somewhere in the ocean, perhaps even eaten by now, she could push a little harder, run a little faster, feel a little less pain.

One lap done, and she could see Temari's lips tilt upward in approval, fleeting, and then she let her thoughts overcome her once more. The blistering heat of the sun would come soon, and the reminder of the scalding temperature of the sand made her run quicker, afraid that her feet would be burnt once more—cold water and ointment had certainly not been enough to make her forget—her breaths picking up again. She could hardly feel the searing burn of her muscles anymore, the guilt of knowing that pushing herself this hard would backfire the minute she finished. A good score the first time would only mean she would have to try for excellent the next time. Could she handle that?

Second lap done, and she could feel sweat rolling down her spine, her stomach, her neck, hair and clothes sticking to her skin, drawing her attention for a moment or two. There was the pressure of having the Kazekage expect "great things" from her. Gin had never been expected to do "great things". What were "great things"? She didn't know. She wanted to give the Kazekage what he wanted, truly believed that what he wanted couldn't have been too much—he didn't seem to be the selfish kind of person, nor did he seem illogical—but she didn't think she _could _give him what he wanted. _Too weak_, her mind hissed. _Too ignorant. Too useless_. But was that really the case? If she were any of those things, would she be here now?

Third lap done, and she could feel the heat of the sun beginning to come out, letting out an exasperated huff. There. She had to give it her all now. But her heart was crashing into her ribcage, and her lungs were ready to collapse. Her vision blurred, her breath caught, and, for a second, it felt as if a knife was being stabbed deep into her side. Not five meters from the finishing line, and her pallid eyes widened in surprised. Her world froze, skin cold and body frozen, a hard beat of her heart that shook her, and then it spun, like a top, all around her, and she skidded to a stop, clutching at her side and doubling over, gasping in shock.

Temari frowned for a moment, clicking the stop watch and glancing down to check the time. It was a better time than she would've gotten, back in her time in the academy. Much better than she had expected. The girl had done a good job of conserving her energy efficiently, but she could only go so long before her current health condition got in the way. Before Temari could stand to help her, a hand fell lightly upon her shoulder. Ahead, the girl was coughing, head bowed and clutching a hand at her chest tightly. And behind, just over her shoulder, stood her baby brother, clear green eyes somber as he watched the girl.

"Six minutes and three seconds," Gaara said evenly, meeting her gaze. "Exactly the time I ran when I was thirteen."

From his expression, Temari gathered that that was not good. Not by his standards. Her blonde brows pulled together in response, teal eyes moving over his face. "She tried her best—"

"I'm not denying that," he interrupted, pulling his hand away. "For a start, that isn't bad."

"Just not good," Temari mumbled.

"Not where we need her," Gaara corrected gently. His robes billowed lightly around him, a stark white in the sun that had broken the horizon not too long ago, auburn hair glowing a poppy red and grape green eyes shining brightly as a reassuring look passed over his countenance. "Considering her condition," he began, stepping around the bench to stand beside her properly, "mental and physical alike, it is impressive."

Temari stood, dusting off her kimono and smiling to herself. "Speed will be a strength for her," she murmured. "I can tell."

Gin sat on her haunches, head tilted back and eyes shut to the sun, breathing slowly, resting her wrists on her knees with her fingers open toward the ground, silvery hair falling over her forehead and behind her ears in sweat-dampened locks. She did not turn to look at them as they approached, the taciturn Kazekage and his lovely sister, eyes opening and lowering her head to stare at her toes, covered faintly in the russet color of the powdery earth. The dirt beneath was beginning to grow hot, and she curled her toes reflexively, pressing her lips together in thought.

"We should go get something to eat," Temari said. "That will be all for today."

Gaara caught the way Gin's eyes tightened, the way her fingers twitched involuntarily and her back tensed ever so slightly, lips turning down minutely. He blinked in surprise, lips parting as if to speak, but she was already standing, straightening her clothes and turning to follow Temari, who was already making her way back into the streets of the village, out of the vast training grounds.

He stood there, stock still, staring after her with wide, pallid eyes. _Is she...? _He shook his head. _No, of course not._ That girl would not question the authority of someone who is obviously of much higher rank than her..._would she?_

~~...~~X~~...~~

Gin ate her dumplings quietly, glancing up every now and again to watch a villager pass by from the open doors and windows of the small shop and curling her free hand around the wooden bench they sat on. Temari asked for tea, something simple, like jasmine, and kindly inquired if they had sweets. An overly eager and cheerful waitress nodded enthusiastically, chestnut brown curls bouncing about her heart-shaped face, hurrying to the kitchen at the back to retrieve the order the infamous kunoichi had given.

Temari stared after her with musing teal eyes, absentmindedly tapping a finger against her knee. "It's nice to see such energy every now and then," she commented. "It's a welcome change from the atmosphere this village takes up so often."

Gin did not respond to the statement, keeping the smooth, wooden stick between her teeth and rolling it between her canine idly, having finished her dumplings. She had noticed the air about the village, yes. As they had walked through the streets, passing many shops and homes along the way, she had noted the way the villagers had behaved, how they sought shelter beneath overhanging roofs and glared up at the sky as if wishing for some rain. Dreary, almost depressing. Now Gin had never been around particularly happy people very often, but this had been different. These people didn't _know _her. They weren't behaving this way to drive her out. And so she noticed it even more than she might've had she still been in the Water Country.

Admittedly, it was a bit refreshing to have an exceptionally joyful person break the morose feelings wafting through the air thicker than the heat itself. And the waitress, a pretty girl with blushing cheeks and bright brown eyes, was a breath of fresh air, setting down a plate of sweet bread and steaming buns and pouring the tea delicately. Her movements were not graceful, and yet captivating, in her unperturbed happiness.

She let the pick lightly clatter against the plate, looking up slowly to take in the homely shop, scarcely filled with customers who spoke to one another in quiet, soft murmurs. "Where is the Kazekage?" she asked faintly. "He was with us earlier." She had noticed his absence the second they had turned a corner down a more busy street, how he had vanished as easily and silently as a shadow, undoubtedly practiced in such an art.

Temari moved her fingers over the plate of sweets, indecisive over which to pick. "He must've had something to do. He likes to check in every now and then to make sure the village is okay and then goes back to his paperwork," she replied easily, finally taking a honey bread and licking her lips in anticipation, green eyes bright.

Gin sipped her tea, faded blue eyes glancing toward the entrance uneasily, a dark look flashing within them briefly before she blinked and focused back on eating. She was not accustomed to sweet things, and found she very much did like them, picking a more sugary-looking bun and taking a hesitant bite out of it before deciding she found it pleasant enough. All her taste buds had ever known was grilled fish and cooked seaweed, salty crackers and plain water. Now there was tea, and there were dumplings and chestnuts and sweet bread and soup, and she enjoyed those things, very much so. She shut her eyes, sighing almost contentedly, if not for the tenseness about her shoulders.

"Miss," she murmured impassively, setting down her now empty teacup and wiping her fingers clean on a napkin laid beside her on the table, waiting until Temari looked at her to finish her train of thought. "If you wouldn't mind too much, I really would like to purchase some shoes."

"Oh," Temari said, smiling, laughter shining in her green eyes. "Of course."

~~...~~X~~...~~

The apartment was suitably small—although much bigger than anything she had owned herself. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette, and an appropriately sized living room. The building was located a block away from the large house the Kazekage and his siblings resided within. It was the same clay-colored stone as every other building in the Sand Village, only a bit taller than most. The passage in the front was rounded, with circular windows on either side, through which were the mailboxes and two staircases; one leading to the left and the other to the right. She would go to the left, up a narrow staircase in a dimly lit hallway, up to the top floor—which happened to be the fourth—and directly down the hall to the very end. And while every other apartment had a number, engraved upon a silver plaque, hers was blank. Perhaps on purpose or on accident, she didn't know.

The apartment was furnished, but only just. They were neutral colors and they offered no sense of home. The ground directly in front of the door was, of course, cement, where she would leave her shoes when she entered. The rest of the floors were chiefly wooden, a soft, sandy color, until she reached the bedroom, where, behind white paper sliding doors, there were tatami mats. A white futon was folded by the window, shutters locked shut and window sealed. The bathroom had white tile, the tub a plain ivory with a silver shower head and clear shower curtains. There was a maroon sofa in the living room with a standard black TV set up across from it. The kitchen also had tiles, white as well, only with black swirls decorating them, if only to add some semblance of uniqueness to a mostly bland setting. The cupboards matched the wooden floorboards and the sink was a dark silver, the counter a foggy gray granite and the fridge a simple milky color. The kitchen table was big enough for four, dark brown wood with matching chairs.

The windows were shut and it was dead silent there.

Temari had handed her the shopping bags and smiled kindly, apologizing for not being able to show her to her home—duty had called and she had to attend to a meeting being held by the council—and so a more serious shinobi had guided her to the apartment, handing her a set of keys and quietly bidding her goodnight. And so she was alone. Again.

The sandals she wore fit perfectly, pitch black, and ended above the ankles. She slipped them off and left them by the door, making sure the door was locked before moving down toward her new bedroom, the floorboards sighing beneath her weight. There were hangers there in the small closet, which she pulled out to arrange her new clothing on. A few t-shirts of solid colors, some light-colored tank tops, and one casual dress Temari had picked herself, one she would most likely never wear. A black skirt, a few pants, and some shorts. The underwear, she would keep in the drawers just inside the closet, gathering the bags and folding them neatly to dispose of better.

She stood in the middle of the room, silent, unsure what to do with herself now that she had free time. And then she blinked, unfocused eyes moving lethargically across the walls.

"Kazekage," she murmured to the empty air. "You startled me."

He stood in the hallway, arms crossed, waiting quietly there. He was hardly surprised she'd noticed him. He wasn't hiding himself, nor did he intend to. "Do you have enough energy now?" he asked abruptly. She turned to look at him, eyes vaguely curious and yet completely composed.

"I ate earlier, yes," she replied, as if that answer were adequate enough.

"That sword," he said, nodding toward the object rested against the wall across from her. "Can you use it?"

It was silent for a few long moments, a wall settling behind her gaze, guarded and distrustful, before she said, "I can."

"Your training isn't over for today. Follow me."

~~...~~X~~...~~

Training at night was completely different from training during the day.

She had learned the difference between night and day growing up, staring blindly through the dark and hoping she had not imagined the movement in her peripheral vision, and then glaring through yellow daylight at figures she _knew _to be there. At night, everything looked the same. Without proper lighting, figures became mixed up and foggy, confusing and strange. Her eyes might've gotten used to it at some point, perhaps the reason why she didn't squint and didn't flinch when he moved too quickly. She _saw_ and was not afraid. But then, perhaps she should correct herself. Because of course night was different from day. It should be put differently. More specifically.

Training with the Kazekage was completely different from training with Temari.

Simplicity was surely a factor with the both of them. Temari's training was simply a test of speed, endurance, to run a set amount of time and a set amount of a distance. The Kazekage's training was simply a test of strength and agility, to avoid _his _attacks while giving her own.

Oh, and how _unfair _it was. She could not possibly aim a sword at him with the purpose of causing him harm. He was the leader of the village, after all, and the younger brother of her teacher. It was cruel and frustrating, because the thought of that kunoichi was heavy on her mind as she wrapped her hand around the hilt of a sword that did not belong to her and leveled a stance at the stoic boy across from her who had given her a chance at freedom. And she felt _wrong _about it, down to her stomach, twisting too tightly to be comfortable.

He had left his robes folded neatly at her apartment, and now wore a maroon coat over matching pants, wearing black sandals, and with gray belts handing loosely around his waist. Nothing more. He held a kunai in his hand. No other weapon. And she felt wariness, facing him, because of course, if he was the Kazekage—and at such a young age, no less—he was surely very strong, beyond anything she had ever faced. This would end quickly and it would end with her defeat. Training. This was training, and she had to remind herself that. But his eyes reflected none of the kindly guidance Temari's had had, molding her teachings to Gin's cold personality, and she realized that that was where the line was drawn. Temari's baby brother would only lead Gin so far, would only go so easy on her, before he would turn and show her _exactly _what he wanted.

"You're left-handed," he commented almost offhandedly, pale green eyes glinting as she shifted to pull the sword from its sheath. Her posture was practiced, feet a measured distance apart and torso turned very slightly. She held the sheath at her hip, as if it were held there by some invisible belt, hands so near one another that only the intricately carved hilt kept them apart. A memory of an old samurai crossed his mind, facing his last opponent, before he blinked and settled his gaze back on the girl. Her ghostly blue eyes were narrowed at him, and yet not. Focused, and yet not. "Uncommon."

"Pardon me, sir," Gin murmured, tilting her head very slightly. "But may I ask why we are doing this? I understand you're a very busy man with very important duties. To waste such precious time on—"

"Your health concerns me," he said.

She understood immediately, pressing her thumb against the hilt forcefully; his eyes caught the movement, brow furrowing in thought before he met her steady gaze once more. "My time was not satisfactory," she elaborated for him. "I knew it would not be."

"It will improve," he dismissed. "I merely felt that your capabilities weren't thoroughly explored today." _And so did you_, he thought, recalling her reaction earlier.

She loosened her grip some, looking away. "I understand."

Quicker than her eyes could follow—dizzying if she tried, causing a brief ache to pierce her between the eyes before she focused once more—he spun the kunai around one long, milky finger, green eyes calm and face carefully placid. The metal gleamed in the faint lights from the village to her right, a circle of silvery black that mesmerized her. Perhaps that had not been his intention, but it had and her grip had loosened just a little more. And then it sliced the air beside her head, less than an inch from cutting her skin, a sharp, light sound following it, and, reflexively, she jumped away, mind blank in fear and shock.

She landed on her feet, hand scraping against the ground and sandals skidding across the dirt, a quick flash of a memory played in her mind, of the time when she was five and she had tried to pick fruit from a tree, and how it had angered the landowner and how he had taken a katana to scare her away with—how _quickly _she had escaped, thoughtless, instinct driving her, ducking from the branches of the woods, desperately hoping home was closer than she remembered—before she took hold once more and unsheathed the sword, holding it horizontal just as he made another attack. A sharp _clang _followed it, from which she nearly flinched, unsurprised at how much stronger than her he was, pushing her back effortlessly, perfectly composed and serene, as if he _wasn't _swinging a kunai at her.

A perfect leader, calm and collected.

She pulled away, twisting from another slash, a clean and straight white line in the darkness, giving one practiced slice at the air, one silvery arch before her, and then blocking another hit. That's all she could do, was block. Defend herself. He was too strong, and she, too weak. Every move had her stumbling back and every push had her ducking away. Clearly outmatched in every aspect. She may have learned how to use a sword, but he had learned to fight his _whole life_. And he was good at what he did—a proper killer, a competent warrior, a trained shinobi—and he was at the level of a Kage, where she could never hope to reach.

And he was going easy on her.

It was laughable, really. If he had been sparring with a child, _this _would've been the right level to use. She sighed, and shut her eyes, letting the kunai slide against the sword and falling back one step, bowing her head and breathing heavily. Her heart was pounding, her breaths catching, sweat dribbling down her forehead. She was tired, already, and her body complained at her, muscles twitching and bones shaking. She could fall, right now, to her knees, and curl up there pathetically. Her arm relaxed and the tip of the sword tapped heavily against the dirt, curling her other hand into a weak fist, the cold steel of the kunai's edge pressing lightly against her throat, right beneath her jaw.

"Forgive me, Kazekage," she rasped, tightening her hold on the sword. "I can't..."

He regarded her a moment, messy hair covering her eyes and mouth open as she gasped, a hint of her fever reddening her cheeks very slightly. His lips parted to speak, but her legs gave out, surprising him. He caught her, blinking as the sword clattered to the ground and her weight, disturbingly light, rested against him completely. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known she wouldn't have made it completely, that her illness hadn't gone away entirely and that her strength would evaporate at some point. If not earlier, then later on, if pushed to such an extent.

He slipped the sword back in its sheath, which had been left stranded somewhere on the training grounds, gathering her up in his arms and flashing quickly atop the roofs, making his way back to her apartment. She was awake and stirring just as he landed silently at the entrance of the building, shifting her head to look at him dazedly, still too weary to move. He made his way up the narrow staircase, down a dimly lit hallway, to the very last door. Before he could maneuver her, intending on opening the door, she pushed herself from his chest, lifting one leg and arching away. He set her down and she immediately pulled out a plain key to unlock the door, stumbling in and yanking off her sandals just before she tripped and fell on the floor.

He took a step forward to help her up, but she rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a sigh. "I'm fine," she muttered, pressing her fingers against her forehead.

"You will crawl to your bed?" he asked, slipping off his shoes and stepping up onto the wooden floor, moving to the table and lifting his robes.

She shook her head. "My energy will come back. Then I will shower, and then I will sleep."

"Suit yourself," he replied, already having pulled on his robes and making his way to the door, putting his sandals back on and stepping out into the hallway.

"Two weeks," Gin said, making him pause as he shut the door, "is surely not long enough."

He turned his head away. "It'll have to be."

The door clicked shut and she let out a huff of air, closing her eyes.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"_Hey..._"

It was way too bright. Through stray gaps between splintered wooden boards the color of day-old dried mud, sunlight filtered through, a canary yellow that was richer than the worn out leathery book in her hands, pages stuck together in their perpetual dampness. She squinted sky blue eyes up at sunlight, fair brows furrowing and puffy lips parting. The dress she wore was frayed at the very end, torn and dark from mud, a sad black color she knew well, swishing about her calves as she stepped back away from the light, back into the shade provided by some boards that had been better built, pressing back against the graying tapestry that had once been vivid with bright reds and blues, royal colors she could only see if she tried to think back through her muddy thoughts to a time where the books weren't all wet and the pots weren't all used to collect the water drops constantly dripping from between those gaps that now bled with yellow light. But that was something she would save for another time, those wistful thoughts that led her nowhere. Instead, she slid her small fingers down the sodden pages, whose words were dark and nearly blurred with one another, moving those bright blue eyes along the curved walls of the place they called home, the many cups and bowls filled with shining water and the homely furniture that creaked much too loudly if sat upon, before settling on the weary woman sitting atop a pile of books and wooden boxes, empty save for wishful thinking and thoughtless imagination.

"_Do you remember?_" the woman asked in a voice she associated with gold, precious and smooth and unattainably beautiful—unattainable, because she had never _seen _it before, therefore it was impossible for her to make such a connection, and yet she had—watching as the girl pressed further back into the material behind her, the clear figures that had been sewn upon there foggy images that made up nothing.

She did not respond, letting out a cold breath as the light grew ever brighter, particles of dust moving lethargically about the room, dancing white specks nearly coming over to kiss her nose, so close, and then disappearing in the shadows she hid within.

The woman tilted her head to the side, long obsidian tresses of silk slipping over her porcelain shoulder, chocolate brown eyes gleaming in the sun, completely unafraid of its touches. "_Do you remember? That time when they came...?_"

_They_ could've been bad. _They _could've been evil. She would never know, and yet fear bloomed within the pit of her empty stomach, twisting stronger than hunger ever could, nails digging into the worn leathery cover of the book she held, bowing her head to hide behind her long hair as she did within the shadows, away from sunlight, away from dust, away from rain, away from _them..._ Her teeth grit and she wanted nothing more than to run into those arms, waiting there across the room, in the _sunlight_, and yet knowing that she wasn't brave enough to.

"_Do you remember what they did? Do you..._" Brown eyes glinted red, a shadow passing over a beautiful face despite the yellow rain around them, a golden voice turning into cold steal. "_Little sister...?_"

The clattering of the book falling heavily to the ground in her memory brought her back, to a room that was dark and dry as bone, panting as she sat on a futon, beneath crisp sheets, heart pounding in her chest. Her hair was still damp from her shower, shutters opened to let the moonlight into the room but glass kept shut in case sand blew in. She wore a tank top and some shorts, body thrumming with exhaustion, eyes heavy with sleep but too afraid of her dreams to oblige her tired mind, coaxing her to her slumbers. The horror of her memories laid heavily upon her, her regrets a palpable demon upon her back. As she breathed harshly, face burning and cold sweat gathered over her skin, covered in goosebumps, thin hair raised, she squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her hands into fists within the sheets and bowing her head against the silvery moonlight.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I remember."

~~...~~X~~...~~

"She is quite talented with a sword," a raspy voice said from behind her as she straightened the documents on the table.

Kankuro had gone to bed, mumbling about a mission and dragging himself to his room to pass out on his bed, fully clothed and smelling of a fresh fight and success. The house was mostly quiet, the sounds of paper being shuffled and crinkled and the deep snores of her younger brother resounding somewhere in the house, spacious as it was. Gaara had arrived silently, a gift he had always had, walking past her to get a glass from the cupboard and pour some cold water for himself. She watched him, teal eyes pensive and lips pressed together, hands frozen in their task of organizing, before she set everything down and crossed her arms in a very characteristically dominant manner.

"You..." She saw it in his gaze, a blonde brow twitching irately at his completely unbothered expression. "Gaara," she said, eyes hardening with a familiar expression, one he'd know anywhere. "That girl is under _my _supervision, she is _my _responsibility. You have no right going around testing her like that."

"I would much rather you push her a little more. I only wanted to see how she'd fare," he replied, raising a hand to appease her, a quick flick of his wrist to show that he meant no harm. Body language, he'd learned, meant everything. He had spent most of his life studying it, watching people quietly, observing, even if dark thoughts had always been the reason for it. He had learned it, maybe mastered it, and he made sure to use it when he had to. Now, he had to calm his sister, whose temper was violent and more scalding than fire itself, eye flashing a dark green and teeth baring, fists clenching and a heavy feeling of fury mixed with danger settling about the air. She eased a little, turning her head away.

"She's sick, Gaara. I want her to get better first. You threw her into this so suddenly." Of course, threats were never too far behind the Village Hidden in the Sand, even after a long and precious time of peace, and it brewed in the horizon even now. Their village was vulnerable, still rebuilding and reforming, growing even, and they couldn't take their chances sending out shinobi to protect the perimeters like they used to. They needed all the help they could get in fixing the damages they had been dealt, reforming broken bonds and shattered alliances, mending the wounds upon their minds and easing themselves back into the world as one of the stronger villages in the world. That would take time, and who knew how much time they had? She understood completely why her brother had decided to hurry the process, why he wanted to strengthen their defenses, and she could see what he meant, could see the potential in the girl, but she couldn't justify the fact that he had gone behind her back to test the girl. He wasn't doing anything bad. It just bothered her to no ends. "What did you... You didn't hurt her, did you?"

He shook his head. "She had her sword and I had a kunai. I did not strike with the intention of making any contact." He finished his water and rinsed the glass, looking down. "She never retaliated, however. Only blocked."

"Anyone can block, Gaara," Temari protested. "That doesn't mean she knows how to use a sword."

He set the cup aside to dry and ran his fingers through his hair, eyes moving toward the window across the room. "No," he agreed. "But she was not afraid of it, and there was no hesitancy in her strike."

"You said she didn't attack," Temari countered, brows raising. "Gaara—"

"She didn't. She cut the air, not me. She was not aiming to hit me. In fact, she seemed quite unwilling to," he murmured, pushing off from the counter to head to his room.

"You're the _Kazekage_," Temari sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Of _course _she wouldn't try to hurt you. That would be a death wish..."

Gaara paused, staring down the hall thoughtfully. "Yes," he said. "Of course."

Temari glanced at him, confused. "Gaara...?"

He was quiet for a few moments, calculating, and then he turned his head, speaking over his shoulder. "Push her a little harder. She's not as weak as you think."

"But her fever," Temari mumbled. "It...will get worse."

"It certainly will," he replied, holding up a finger before she could say anything. "Without proper nourishment, it will. Her body needs to get used to having a regular intake of food and a daily round of exercise. In a few days, her body will agree with food and then a few days after that, it will accept her training. It will take time, but it will be done. She has the potential to be a weapons expert and the capability to be one of the fastest shinobi in our village."

"In two weeks," she grumbled uncertainly.

"If I could become Kazekage in under a year, then she can become a proper shinobi in much less," was his only response before he left to his room to rest, shutting the door softly behind him.

She sighed, moving back to her work grudgingly. She supposed he had a point there. Temari managed to become the strongest kunoichi in her village effortlessly, just by putting in a little more work than others. She managed to become the greatest wind master in all of the Five Great Nations, and was officially deemed the cruelest kunoichi in the entire Shinobi World. All within the time span of three years. And Kankuro had become the best puppet master, the best puppet maker, is able to wield even the most complex mechanisms and formulate the most intricate weapons all on his own. All in a few months of harsh practice. And then there was Gaara, of course, the youngest and least fortunate of the three renowned Sand Siblings. And he had accomplished so much more than they ever could, all in one year.

Gin, who seemed incapable of doing much more than simply existing, could certainly become a shinobi in two weeks. It was only a given. If Naruto Uzumaki, such a precious person to Gaara, could turn the whole world upside down in just _one day, _surely Gin could become a kunoichi. And if Sakura Haruno, who had surpassed the most famous kunoichi of all time, could become the world's greatest medic in two years, Gin could be made into a warrior. No doubt.

Temari nodded to herself. Of course, it was up to her to do it. She would have to work extra hard this time around. If not for herself, then for her village.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: This did take a bit, sorry. I was a little busy enjoying my summer. Here we are, though. She's pretty formal, isn't she?**

**Please review, I'd like to hear (read) your thoughts so far. **

**By the way, Jin , pretty sure I failed. I'm not going all the way through this to fix it if I did, so I'll just sit here and rethink my vocabulary now that you pointed that out. ;-;**


	5. Chakra Control

**A.N.****: This came out pretty quickly. Sorry if all the chapters seem to be focusing on just her training, but I figured it's more realistic this way. I'll reward you, though. More insight on her past. But it's vague. So, so vague.**

**This was easier to edit than I thought. Yay.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto._**

**Chakra Control**

"Five minutes and twenty-two seconds," Temari said, standing from her seat to walk over to the girl, hands braced on her knees as she panted heavily. "Not bad."

The wind was beginning to pick up with the approaching autumn, the sun hidden behind rust-colored clouds, sand scratching across their skins and catching within their lashes. Temari merely blinked the sensation away, knowing full well that rubbing it would only make it worse. Gin, however, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, straightening and clenching her teeth, a burning following the action. Her hair whipped around her face, and she suddenly wished it was longer so that she could tie it back the way Temari did, leaving her completely unbothered and face clear.

"Better?" Gin asked, half hopeful that it was. In the time span of only three days, she had managed to push her time back just a little bit, and get her body to last until the very end. Her heart still pounded and her lungs were still struggling, but she found herself less tired than she used to be, and licked her chapped lips in the anticipation of the water Temari offered, drinking almost greedily and sighing as her insides cooled along with it.

"Much," Temari replied, looking the girl over for any differences. Three days was certainly not enough to change much, but she could see the beginning of it. A healthy diet had done Gin well, as Gaara had said it would, her cloudy eyes just a little clearer and her skin a little less translucent. Her energy lasted just a little longer and her fever had all but vanished. And although she had not seemed to gain a lot of weight—miniscule, perhaps—her body seemed a little more sturdy, less shaky than it used to be. "You've progressed at a suitable pace."

"What time am I required to have?" She shook the empty bottle, rolling her neck to ease the crick there. Her shorts were black this time and fit her perfectly, clinging to her hips snugly. She had wrapped her feet up in bandages again, the sandals not quite broken in yet. Her shirt was lavender and had short sleeves, protecting her shoulders from the rays of the sun, still managing to find even the slightest partings in the clouds.

Temari looked down at the clipboard, reading over the lists Gaara had provided her. The fastest male shinobi ran at three minutes and four seconds, and the fastest female, currently, ran at four minutes and fifteen seconds. These were Jonin listings. Temari could only run five, and that was her limit. With the aid of her wind, of course, she could go faster, but only so much before her body gave out. Gin would be able to outrun her easily once she reached her full potential. "About four minutes," Temari murmured. "Can you push yourself that far?"

Gin nodded slowly. "By the end of the week," she said. "I'll try."

"Alright, then. We're starting something new today, though. You have enough energy so we should be able to do it a few times." Temari turned and set down the clipboard on the bench, picking up a black bag and tossing it to Gin, landing at her feet. "Target practice."

At Temari's command, Gin knelt and opened the bag. Inside, there were dozens of different kinds of weapons; kunai, shuriken, senbon needles, wires, and tantos. She stared at them, unsure what to do, looking up at Temari, who approached her slowly. "Miss..." she began, a vague fear twisting in her stomach, a ghost of a memory passing through her mind before she could shake it away, swallowing down bile and moving her trembling hands away from the weapons. "I..."

"You get four tries. Try to hit every target perfectly with each weapon by the end of today, and you're free to go." She pointed at a few stumps set out, marked with red and white circles, where between each hung fine gray strings with green glass bottles tied to them, three between each stump. "The prize is money. You can buy groceries then, instead of eating out every day. That gets expensive eventually."

Gin looked back down, eyes moving over the weapons uncertainly, reaching out a hand to touch one of them, and then drawing away quickly. "Which...?"

"Shuriken first," Temari said. "They're the very basic. Start with the first target on the left. There are twelve of them in there. Throw them with care. They're the only ones you have and you can't retrieve them." As Gin stood up, a shuriken held loosely in her hand, as if afraid of it, she offered, "Think of this as a mission. You got spotted by enemy shinobi and they're out in a clearing looking for you, evenly spaced like those targets. You want to hit all of them quickly, before they can notice and retaliate, and you only have a limited amount of weapons. You cannot get them back once they're thrown, or you'll be putting yourself in further danger. Got it?"

"Yes," Gin mumbled, holding the shuriken up to see. It was small, made of dark, cold metal and it glinted even in the dimmest light. She took grip at one sharp end of the four points, looking up at the targets. She already knew before she threw it, horizontally like she had observed shinobi to do, that it would not hit. It glanced off the bark and stuck to the ground a few feet away, a sharp noise following it. She grabbed another one, squinting through the sand at the circle, measuring the distance with her eyes.

Temari tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes as Gin threw the next one. The girl could throw far, and her aim wasn't bad. The wind displaced every one she threw, the only thing, really, keeping her from hitting the marks. But Temari would not interrupt. She had chosen this day specifically for its weather. This struggle against natural order would surely help Gin's accuracy. By the end of the day, she should be able to make at least one target. She smiled to herself at the next shuriken stuck, only a few inches above the intended area and Gin sighed in something akin to frustration and annoyance, recalling the time her father had bought them their weapons, setting up a few targets and given them his conditions. "_Hit all of them by the end of today,_" he'd said to Kankuro and her, "_and I'll take you out for sweets tonight._" And the excitement they had both felt, throwing and tossing and laughing when the other failed, was stronger than anything they'd felt in a long time. Candy had never tasted so sweet after all that work, but it had taken _hours,_ and they had never touched shuriken before then. The targets had not been far and the wind had not moved a single inch—perhaps that was why their father had chosen that day to begin their training, because it would've been easy—therefore she felt almost certain it would take Gin all night just to hit _one _of them.

And so her eyes widened in surprise, brows raised and lips parted, as the last shuriken hit directly in the center of the red and white circle, a loud _thunk _as it sunk into the wood easily. Gin sighed, stretching her fingers out as she let herself relax. The other ones were scattered around the stump, a line leading toward the actual target itself, where a single shuriken was wedged in the middle. Gin looked back at her, foggy eyes patiently awaiting her next command. "Kunai next," Temari murmured. "Hit as many bottles as you can. You need to shatter them completely to pass."

This girl really did have great potential, and she was almost glad she'd brought her here.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"How did it go?" her brother asked the moment she stepped through the front door. The floor was clean and shone in the light, the rich smell of wood polish, an almond scent, wafted around her and she sighed. He lied on the couch, hands folded on his stomach and staring up at the ceiling. He had already showered, it seemed, dark brown hair damp and face cleaned of his paint, dressed in a plain black t-shirt and black pants, bare feet crossed at the other end of the couch. He turned his head to look at her when she didn't respond, raising his brows.

She left her sandals at the door, padding across the living room toward the kitchen. "She's improved," she said. "At this rate, she might not even need next week."

He sat up, stretching and yawning. He'd been napping before she came in, worn out from his mission and all the paper work he had had to fill in. He didn't feel particularly refreshed, but he assumed Temari wanted to talk. With Gaara stuck in a meeting, Kankuro was really all Temari had at the moment. So he stood and followed her into the kitchen promptly, moving toward the fridge before her. "I'll make you something," he offered, pulling out a few things and setting them on the counter. "What about her strengths, then? What do you think so far?"

"Speed," Temari sighed, sitting down at the table. "She's already beating me in that area."

"Impressive," he mumbled, shutting the fridge.

"She's not half bad with weapons, either. She can throw just fine and knows how to handle them." She leaned her head back, catching herself before she finished that thought. _But she seems afraid of them_, she mused. _What did Gaara see? He seemed so sure she wasn't. _"Although, long distance fighting won't be a strong point for her."

"Which rules out either one of us teaching her," Kankuro finished for her, slicing apart the cold meat as water boiled on the stove. "I don't know if that's a good thing. The other shinobi don't trust her."

"Of course they don't," she muttered. "They have every right not to." She interlaced her fingers, tracing the lines of the table thoughtfully, lips pressing together. "Once our training is over, I wonder who Gaara will choose to teach her..."

"That will all depend on her. If she's doing as good as you say she is, he'll pick someone good." He slid the knife across the cutting board, pushing the diced up meat into the boiling water.

"Gaara would pick someone good even if she was doing bad. He doesn't settle for second best," Temari retorted, flattening her hands against the table and sitting back in her seat. "It's just a matter of where she exceeds."

"We don't particularly have fast shinobi in this village," Kankuro murmured, moving on to mince some vegetables from there. "In all honesty, I think Baki is the closest I can think of that is pretty fast. Even then, though..."

"Baki is busy doing other things," she said. "He has no time to train some girl."

"Unless we ask the Leaf for help again," he pondered. "Rock Lee is pretty fast..."

"They have their own things to worry about." She watched him mix the soup, his back to her, and sighed. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"I think we should wait a little longer before deciding," he agreed, tasting the soup carefully before adding more salt. His eyes followed the steam, twisting almost lazily in the air, mumbling softly, "Say, Temari. You wouldn't mind me helping, would you?"

She looked up, a worried look passing behind her dark eyes. "Is something the matter? It's not like you to do something like that."

He shook his head. "Nothing's wrong," he reassured, letting the soup simmer for a moment. He couldn't quite get it out of his head, that time in the hospital, how lost the girl had looked, and how completely submissive she was, and then the way guilt tore at Temari, something solid in her eyes—eyes he remembered thinking looked like the leafs in that village, the one that had changed Gaara so much, eyes that were much too colorful for this place, just like their baby brother's fiery hair and apple-colored gaze—and he suddenly felt a bit confused, because he'd never seen someone look so dazed, and he'd never seen his big sister look so remorseful, not once in all the time he'd been alive. Gaara said the girl had potential, and if Gaara said that, who knew so much about life despite how young he actually was, then it had to be true. And Temari had come home every day for the past three days talking about the girl, complaining and yet smiling in satisfaction.

He filled a bowl with the soup, bringing it over to his sister, still staring at him with concern, and set it down before her. "Kankuro..." she began, raising a hand to touch his arm.

"I just wanted to help," he said. "This girl is going to be responsible for the safety of our people, she's going to be one of our own. I want to prepare her before she does." Life in the Village Hidden in the Sand was not an easy one. It was cruel and hard and merciless. She had to be ready for that, she had to be strong enough. And although it seemed she had not had an easy life to begin with, this was certainly different than what she had faced before.

"I think," Temari said, cupping a hand around the hot bowl and leaning down to breathe in the scent. "I think that would be good."

Kankuro poured her a glass of water, smiling as she drank silently and sitting down across from her to eat dinner. "How many more days is it? Eleven?"

"Eleven exactly."

"Do you think she'll be ready?"

"She'll have to be."

~~...~~X~~...~~

"_Apples are good for the heart,_" a feathery voice breathed in her ear as she filled a bowl with fruits on the counter. She paused as she rested the red fruit atop the small pile, and, without thinking, rinsed it beneath warm water and bit into it immediately, sweet juice filling her mouth and trickling down her chin. Her eyes fell shut and a sound left her, somewhere in her throat, at the taste, rich and fresh. She bowed her head, chewing methodically and swallowing before taking another bite, keeping her eyes shut. An image passed behind her eyelids, warm and sunny and soft, of trees towering over her as a child, a tall and shapely girl standing above her, up on the branches and smiling gently, wavy blonde hair framing her beautiful face. "_Eat an apple every day. The juice will heal even the tiniest wounds. Believe me._"

She pulled away when all she was left with was the core, tossing it in the trash beside the fridge and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "What about oranges?" she asked the empty air, the grinning girl in her memories. "What about grapes?"

"What about them?" a raspy voice responded.

She spun around, catching herself against the counter and pressing her hand against her forehead, fighting the dizziness that it had caused. "Kazekage," she mumbled. "Please stop surprising me like that."

He stood by the door, eyes impassive as he watched her. He did not wear his robes, only a pair of black pants and a black, long-sleeved shirt, making his white skin all the more prominent. "Your appetite seems healthy," he commented, making her aware of the fact that he had been standing there the whole time.

"I... I've always been told that apples are nutritious," Gin replied, looking away. "I'm trying to take care of my body, as your sister had instructed me to."

"Have you been taking your medicine, then?" he asked, walking forward.

"I have," she murmured, turning to put away the groceries left lining the counters, throwing the bags away and filling the cabinets and fridge shelves alike. She kept the grapes out, rinsing them to eat.

"Good. I brought you more." He set the prescription bottle beside her and moved away toward the table, sitting down.

She stared down at it, a grape halfway to her mouth. "Do you normally worry this much over people, Kazekage?" she asked, popping the grape in and biting down. The juice exploded in her mouth, more sweetness that she cherished, rolling another one between her fingers as she chewed.

"You are under my care," he said. "Temari brought you here and is ultimately looking over you, but I still need to make sure nothing happens to you. Including your failure to take care of yourself."

_It wasn't a failure_, she thought, the image of her old life creeping up behind her eyelids. _It was an impossibility_. She pushed the thought away, offering him some grapes, which he took silently. "Is this a casual visit? I didn't think you and I were on that level quite yet, Kazekage. Or are you going to train me in secret again?"

"We're past that," he said. "Temari is more than capable of teaching you and she is doing a fine job of it. I like to make sure everything is in order every now and then before getting back to work."

She remembered Temari telling her something like that, after their first session. "But you weren't working," she murmured, looking up at him. "You must've been at home, being dressed like that."

"Observant," he praised as she sat down across from him. "Yes, I was at home. But we were having an interesting conversation regarding you and I decided to come see how you were. Your training has gone well, I see."

She picked another grape, glancing down as she felt his knuckle brush hers, the skin rougher than she had imagined it to be, as he, too, pulled another one from the stem. The grapes were as green as his eyes, she realized, when they're in the sun. She frowned slightly in surprise. When had she noticed that? "I can run faster," she said. "And my endurance is better. Although, in terms of strength, I seem to be lacking."

"My brother will help you with that," he said, surprising her. Her eyes, which were light cerulean and wider than he remembered, blinked up at him, tilting her head to the side as she often seemed to. "While my sister helps with your speed and weapon skills, my brother will help with your strength and chakra control."

"Chakra..." she breathed, sitting back against the chair. She knew what it was, had seen it be used on more than just a few occasions, and she knew how important it was to shinobi; fundamentally the very reason they _were _shinobi. But she had never used it, didn't even know if she _had _it, therefore not knowing how to even _check _if she did. Much less control it. "Kazekage, I'm not sure I have chakra."

"Everyone has chakra," he said. "Whether you can control it or not is what's important."

She pressed a canine against a grape lightly, doubt tightening her eyes. "You can control it very well," she murmured. "Which is why you are Kazekage..." She met his gaze, watching her curiously.

"That's part of it. I worked very hard to be in this position." He looked away politely when she finally ate the grape she had been fidgeting with.

"I'm sure you did," Gin sighed. She wasn't a fan of small talk, and so she found herself trailing off and growing silent, retracting her hands from the grapes and folding them in her lap. Hard work led to good things, she knew that well enough. It had been a lesson she was taught when she was a child often times, something she was not allowed to forget. And she never did, no matter how many years passed.

"Are you finished eating already?" he asked, eating a last grape and leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," she said, sitting up. "Are you?" He nodded and she stood, collecting the remaining grapes and moving them to the bowl, washing her hands of the juice and drying them on a rag she had left folded in a drawer.

"I did come here for another reason, Gin," he murmured, folding his hands atop the table. She turned around slowly, eyes guarded, as they always seemed to be. He let his eyes look her over for once the entire night. She wore fitting black pants and a cotton black t-shirt, somehow suitable on her, with a wild mess of short silver curls on her head, framing her small face, and wide piercing eyes, long jet black lashes casting soft shadows in them. Her lips had gained color, faintly pink, as did her face, less ill-looking and more lively. Her body had gained a little more fat, very slight and almost unnoticeable, but it was there and it was relieving. A healthy diet _had _done her well, and her mind, it seemed, was quicker than it used to be, if that was at all possible.

"Advice," she stated, tilting her head to the side.

"Yes." He shut his eyes, and she noted the black lids, curiosity burning her insides before she pushed it away. "After your training is over, you will immediately be sent on missions. They won't be easy and I'll be putting my trust in you to finish them accordingly, do you understand?"

"I do," she said, lowering her eyes to the ground. No one had ever had faith in her, enough to leave her responsible of something. Here she was, a girl from a land that had once been an enemy of this village, and she was being entrusted by the Kazekage to protect his people. She didn't know what to do with herself, fingers pulling at the end of her shirt absently.

"Kankuro will teach you how to control your chakra, and if you show to be talented in it, I will ask the Hokage to send one of her shinobi to teach you themselves. The Leaf Village has many great shinobi, very gifted and powerful, while my village has lost many in the war. I want the best to teach you, so that you may properly serve this village the way you're now meant to." He moved his gaze to her evenly, watching her crystal eyes stare intently at the ground, locks falling over her forehead. "More specifically, I would like you to be a medic. We don't have many here and it would be most useful to us now, more than ever."

"She... Sakura Haruno," Gin whispered. "She will be the one to teach me...?"

"Only if you can prove yourself worthy of her teachings. She has surpassed her own Master, the Fifth Hokage _herself_. Miss Haruno should not have her time wasted."

Gin remembered the kunoichi clearly, short pink hair and bright green eyes, smiling kindly at her and speaking in warm tones. She had not seemed to be particularly special, too polite and courteous to really stand out. But she did remember how easily she had healed her wounds, how calm and collected and practiced she was. It was a surprise that she had beaten the world's most renowned kunoichi at her own game, even more so to know that she had come face to face with her and had not given it a second thought. And the prospect of being able to be taught by such a powerful medic was certainly appealing. "I understand. I will try my best," Gin murmured, bowing.

"Good," he said, standing. "Tomorrow you will train with Kankuro in place of Temari. You will meet him at the entrance of the village."

She straightened, watching him walk toward the door. "The entrance... Why?"

"Kankuro does things differently. I'd advise taking a packed lunch and plenty of water, maybe an extra set of clothing suitable for the heat." He slipped his sandals back on and opened the door, pausing as he glanced back at her. She was a petite thing, with slight shoulders and a delicate figure, hardly visible from her loose clothing. He was inexplicably happy to see her taking care of herself, had faced a moment of intense relief when he had walked in and found her eating an apple hungrily, eyes shut and completely lost in what seemed to be a delicious taste. "All fruits are good for you, Gin," he said. "Until you eat too much of them, that is."

Her eyes grew confused, tilting her head to the side again as her thin brows pulled together beneath her ruffled hair, the ends of her lips turning down slightly. He shut the door behind him, turning down the hallway to head back home now that he had said what he had come to say, leaving her to her thoughts. She watched the door silently, smoothing out the wrinkles her fingers had made in her shirt, a strange feeling sliding down her back.

"_Apples are good for the heart, ya know?_" the memory of a feather-light voice said in her mind. "_Eat one every day, and you'll become invincible._"

"Is that true?" she asked the walls. "If I eat an apple every day, will I become strong? Will I never be hurt?" As she clutched a hand over her heart, she realized that it wasn't. There was a throb she did not understand, piercing her chest and causing a turmoil to start up in her stomach. She turned on her heel and went to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes without even bothering to shut the door. Her pants fell in a pool around her ankles and her shirt crumpled up beside it, a white bra and matching underwear landing a little ways off. She stepped into the tub, twisting the knobs and jolting as icy water began to splash over her head, immediately drenching her hair, sticking to her forehead and nose, ears and neck, a sharp pang throbbing in her brain as the cold liquid seeped into her skin.

Her skin was littered with goosebumps, down her arms and legs and back and stomach, a shaky breath leaving her. She turned the knob until the stream became warm, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her face to the gentle thrum of water. She'd already showered earlier, the scent of her soap still lingering on her skin and hair, but she suddenly felt incredibly dirty, sinking down until she was sitting, hugging her knees and bowing her head beneath the water, pressing her nose against her forearm, shutting her eyes.

_Not dirty_, her mind whispered. _Just confused_. But about what? The Kazekage had given her a layout of her future, a brief insight on his expectations for her, and he had given her fair warning. If anything, she was glad he came to tell her. It gave her a more solid image of what the future had in store for her. But she felt scared, unreasonably so, at the idea of it. In another week and a half, she would begin her official training, and it all depended on the effort she put into her work. If she was good, she'd become a medic. If she wasn't, she'd become a weapons expert. And if she couldn't do either, she would merely be the fastest shinobi in the Sand Village. All of those things were difficult, heavy responsibilities. No matter what she did, she would have to give it her all to serve the village. It was what she was meant to do after all, the whole reason she was here.

But her fear wasn't entirely because of that, how much was expected of her. It wasn't even really because she didn't think she could. No, this fear was an old one, one she had always felt. It stemmed from the deepest parts of her mind, the very core of her being, as deeply integrated within her as an ancient cedar in the ground, the roots of which wrapped tightly around her, even as she curled into herself beneath a hot stream of water, miles and miles away from where it had all began. It was there when she closed her eyes, there when she opened them, there in her sleep and in her reality. And with every passing moment, its proverbial flowers bloomed even more, a scent of sadness enveloping her senses.

"Is it true?" she asked the silence around her, a silence that broke her down more than she would've liked to admit. "Is it true I won't ever be hurt...if I listen to you...?"

The lovely, gentle face of a girl hardly past the age of fifteen smiled back at her in her memories, high above her in the golden canopy of the trees, the rain having stopped but still drenched within the mud beneath her bare feet, dripping down from the leafs above, her verdant eyes melting her and her sunny blonde hair falling in beautiful wisps about her face. Her laughter sounded like silver bells, and it caused a pain within Gin that she could never understand, a sound escaping her that was as pathetic as it was bleak.

"Is it true...?"

~~...~~X~~...~~

She could not think back far enough to a time they had all lived together. They had always been separated, for reasons she could never fathom. But she had never questioned it, had never dared to disturb what peace she was allowed, however brief it was.

She could count on her fingers how many times she had been embraced, on just one hand, and each time had been by a different one. And she could recount, quite easily, how every one of them had felt, had smelled, and how she had been held—if cradled or grasped, if clutched or nearly suffocated—and she could say how many times she had wished for affection, and yet never received it.

A child that was basically an orphan did not have an easy life, especially if she was a girl. But in that aspect, she was not as troubled as her siblings. They had developed fast, and had been very beautiful, while she, who was much younger and much smaller than any of them, had not and was not. Her hair had always been cut short, by a pair of rusty shears she remembers clearly, all around her chin or near her scalp, and her clothing had always been baggy and unattractive. Perhaps they had done it to protect her, perhaps they had done it to spite her. She did not know. But for the first ten years of her life, she had been a boy.

And as the only boy in her broken family, she was the one that was taught to fish, to "Support your family like a real man," as the old fisherman had told her gruffly, handing her a spear and pushing her toward the edge of the pier. And after weeks and weeks of lessons, it had become a second nature to her, just as making a handmade net and scraping the grayish scales off the catch, cooking them in a fire she had to make herself and peeling away the bones to toss back into the ocean. Her greatest happiness at that time was seeing her siblings eat her catch, their hunger ebbed for just a little while.

And as the youngest, she was traded between them, each house they had taken up, and lived briefly in one home before being tossed to another. She had not made friends easily, if ever, and lost them as quickly as they came.

A boy had asked her how it felt to be surrounded by so many girls, and she had opened her mouth to correct him, to tell him that she was, in fact, also female and that she did not mind it so much, but behind him there was a lake, and her reflection was _not _a girl. It was a boy, thin and scraggly and messy, with short curly platinum hair that was tangled and unkempt, with loose dark clothing, barefoot and with sleepy-looking crystal blue eyes. Nothing at all like her beautiful sisters that were tall and graceful and feminine. And so she had said, looking away expressionlessly from him, "I'll be the man one day, and I'll take care of them. It doesn't bother me." But it was a lie, all of it. Because she never would be, and never could, and it did, in fact, bother her. Very much.

There was a time she'd almost died. Winter, it was, and she had had no coat to protect her and no shoes for the icy mud slopping beneath her constantly. She remembered that she had cried, leaning against a tree and calling for her sisters. None of them had come. And, after a while, it seemed they never would, no matter how loud she became and how much she shouted over the pouring rain that pounding down upon her head as if it was hell-bent on shoving her down into the ground. And she had stopped, altogether, and before she knew it, she was coiled up on floor, between the thick roots of a tree behind her and the slick mud sliding smoothly beneath her. She had stayed there for hours, the world falling to black and had woken on a bed, one she had not recognized. Who she saw beside her was not who she wanted to see—all she'd ever wanted was for one of her sisters to care, one of them to hold her, at least once—but this was a boy she saw, the same one who had asked her that question that had broken down her simple world. "You're pretty weak for a man," he said to her mockingly, and she had turned away, the sheets beneath her wet and droplets of ice cooling on her bare skin. Her clothing had been folded atop a chair across the room, and she had stared almost despondently before moving her gaze up toward the ceiling slowly. He was the only boy that had ever seen her naked, had figured out the truth, and he had not told a soul.

Because who cares about a child that was basically an orphan? Who cares about a girl that had no future? They both understood why she'd done it and he had not asked any further.

Being a girl was dangerous, and she knew that better than anyone. She had seen what had been done to her sisters, she had seen how men stare and how they touch and how they speak to them, and she had seen the pain it had caused each and every one of them, a haunted look in their eyes. So perhaps her oldest sister had cut her hair so short to protect her, and perhaps second sister had brought her those clothes to save her, and perhaps third sister had taken her to the pier to prevent such things from happening to their baby sister as well. She didn't know. All she knew and all she cared about was the whisper they gave in her ear every morning as they dressed her, too young to even read, "You are not a girl. You are a boy." And if she questioned them, they'd smile and say, "You're safe this way. Do as I say." And so she did.

It wasn't until she was twelve years old that that reality had become a lie, an impossibility. Blood had stained her flimsy underwear and discomfort accompanied her body. Her features, she saw from a pond or a split mirror, were softening, whereas boys her age were not. A tenderness began around her chest, and hips had widened just a bit. Wearing extra clothing could only hide so much, and when she stepped out of the bath to dry herself, one of her sisters saw her and told her, "I guess there's no denying it now. You look just like her." It had never been explained, and so Gin had lived those next few months wondering who it was she spoke of. Certainly not her sisters.

Where eldest sister was tall and elegant, with porcelain skin and long black hair, with a seductive smirk and glinting chocolate-colored eyes, and second sister was lovely and womanly and peach-skinned, with wavy hair that tumbled like a mahogany waterfall down her back, and third sister was free-spirited and long-legged, with fluffy yellow hair that spun down along her spine and fluttered around her like feathers, all curvy and feminine and beautiful, Gin had been short and slender and small. They were all colorful and caught the eye easily, popular and envied. Gin had never grown into their shoes, had never lived up to their unrivaled beauty.

She was considered the boy until she was fourteen, when everything fell apart.

And Gin was certainly nothing like her older sisters, but she was the very product of their misguidance and their troubled minds. The embodiment of their burning hatred and their never ending sadness.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Kankuro was much taller than his siblings. And much more serious. His narrow brown eyes were hard set and his lips were held in a thin line of intolerance. But his deep voice was kind enough and he did not push her when she failed to do as he said. She felt small standing beside him, and shrunk away when he came near to guide her hands into the proper seals, his large hands engulfing hers easily. He was not patient, but he tried his best, sighing whenever she slipped and subtly coaxing her in the right direction. Soon enough, she relaxed enough for him to pull away and leave her be.

His sister was only three inches taller and his brother was only about four, but Kankuro was seven full inches taller, and he stared down at her with his stony eyes and crossed his arms as he waited for her to form the proper hand seal. "Sir," she began, looking down at her hands as she moved her fingers into place. "What are we doing?"

"Building your chakra," he replied, the tenseness leaving his shoulders as she spoke for the first time that whole morning. The walk out to the mountains was long and silent, and he hadn't entirely been sure he knew how to begin a conversation with such a dispassionate person, walking quietly behind him. Climbing up to the cave was the difficult part, lifting her up into his arms and jumping up from rock to rock. She had pulled away immediately when he stepped into the cave, most likely uncomfortable with physical contact, bowing in thanks and stepping back, waiting for the lesson to begin. "It's the first step. You always need to build chakra before performing Ninjutsu or Genjutsu. You need to concentrate, which is why I brought you here." He looked around at the cave, rather small, with a few boulders scattered deeper down, as he spoke. He tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's closed off and mostly quiet. No one will bother you."

As he turned to walk back toward the entrance, she spoke up, "You're leaving me here?"

"I'll be at the bottom working on my puppets, don't worry. I'm only giving you your space." He stopped at the very edge, staring down at the ground that seemed far away. A shading was provided by some large rocks around the bottom, a perfect place to rest and tinker with his mechanisms. "I'll be back in an hour to check your progress."

"How do I build chakra?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"Imagine a coil at your center," he murmured, telling her the way his sensei had taught him. "There are two elements making up the coil; physical and spiritual. Temari is helping you with your physical energy, and I'll be helping you with your spiritual. Physical energy can be built up with exercise, while spiritual can only be built up with concentration and meditation."

"You want me to meditate," Gin gathered, sitting down cross-legged on the ground.

"Essentially," Kankuro said, turning to look at her over his shoulder. Her clothing was much lighter than his, which meant she would not randomly be having any strokes again. A short-sleeved gray shirt and loose-fitting navy pants. "The clothes you're wearing is perfect for relaxation. Did you bring the extra set?"

"I did. Are we working out after this? I thought you said Temari would be the one to help me with physical."

"Not exactly. I'm going to teach you a jutsu, if you succeed in this. It takes a lot more energy than you think to learn these things."

"A jutsu. So fast?" She inclined her head as he turned away again.

"All of your training will have to be fast. We don't have time to waste." With that, he jumped down from the edge, leaving her to her work.

She formed the seal he had taught her, shutting her eyes and imagining the coil he had mentioned. _Concentrate_, her mind whispered as her muscles tensed and her brows pulled together, trying and failing to find her coil, to find her spiritual energy. _Concentrate._ She tried to picture it, there in her center, swirling in a smooth circle, searched for it in her mind and body, but it evaded her quickly, just out of reach. _Concentrate_. She ignored the wind fluttering outside, the sand shifting across the opening of the cave, the cold stone against her ankles where the legs of her pants had lifted away from, the way her clothing folded and creased against her, every line and curve of her body, and turned all of her focus into her middle, reaching blindly into her mind for something she had never known before. _Concentrate._

"_Little sister,_" a liquid voice purred in her ears, nearly pulling her from her task, squeezing her eyes shut tighter and gritting her teeth. "_We ran once, remember? You were so fast, and I almost caught you..._"

Yes, she remembered. That one time in spring when it had not rained, the ground was almost dry and so she did not slip when she sprinted away from her sister, a mixture of playfulness and terror cooling her skin as she tore across the forest, quick legs burning as she tried and tried, with desperation, to get away. But her sibling had much longer legs, even if she wasn't fast, and she caught up easily, reaching out a hand to snatch her up, but then...

_But then..._

"_You ran on water, little sister. Just like they did._"

Her eyes snapped open as it shot through her, an energy that felt much like fire, flaring through her every nerve and vein.

"You got it," Kankuro's voice said, breaking her from her shock. He stood over her, hands in his pockets, smiling kindly. She blinked, surprised that an hour had already passed, so quickly. "Now let's begin. The first thing you need to learn is how to rock climb."

"Rock climb?" she mumbled, pressing a hand over her chest where her heart pounded in distress, still bothered by her memory.

"Without using hands," he finished, smile widening. "This will take the rest of the day. Change into your extra clothes behind that rock. I'll show you how to do it once. After that, you're on your own."

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: She picks things up pretty quick, ever since childhood; being taught to fish, learning how to use a sword (which I will explain soon), defending herself, and so on. Three older sisters, which is ****a lot considering their culture; four kids is a big family.**

**Review please! Next chapter will be a little more fast-paced and will focus more on the relationship between Gin and Gaara. **


	6. Crinkled Paper

**A.N.****: Hm, this took a while, didn't it? Sorry, my freedom is coming to an end soon. So, less frequent updates. **

**I listen to music while I'm writing. I'll list them out from now on so you can see whatever the hell my phone just happened to play while I wrote (it's set on random and I don't skip unless it distracts me too much). I started out writing this with something soft like a Beatles song, and then I took a break and realized that my phone had decided to be demonic and I'd been listening to things like "Innocence" by Disturbed (misleading title? Probably). So, yeah. While you read these chapters, you can listen to the music I was while writing. If you want. I won't force you. Some of my music is a little...odd.**

**Even though this chapter took long, it's not my best. It's a little faster and it deals with both Gin's and Gaara's confusion over one another. But I guess this is a good start into their relationship.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto_.**

**Crinkled Paper**

She collapsed onto the sofa the moment she dragged herself through the door, managing to stumble across the living room and flop down onto her back across the cushions, hissing as her muscles complained, tensing and then relaxing very slowly. Her body thrummed with exhaustion, blood pounding in her head, making her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth open in silent protestation. When Kankuro had said it would be difficult, he had not been lying. More like understating, really. He did not take her back to the village until she finished her lesson, drawling endlessly about chakra points and her lack of concentration. He had sat upon a smaller boulder, cross-legged and with a puppet draped across his lap, hands methodically going about the business of fixing the hidden mechanisms in every wooden limb and joint. She had fallen perhaps a couple dozen times before he said, almost like an afterthought, that she needed to focus her newfound chakra into the bottoms of her feet in order to climb the wall successfully.

As if she knew how to.

The sun had long since set before she had managed to successfully stand on the side of the rock, but as she took a step forward, hesitant and fearful, she felt her chakra drain from her quickly, like water through a sieve, and she nearly slipped and fell back toward the ground. Kankuro had caught her, pulling her back down to the ground and straightening her, his hands upon her shoulders as he helped her regain her balance. "It's because you haven't built up enough chakra. The more you train, the more you can do it," he'd explained, collecting his puppets and leading her back toward the village. She had only managed to follow him so far before she began to feel her knees give out, reaching out to wrap one hand around his elbow to keep herself steady. "You wore yourself out," he said as he pulled her arm over his shoulder and caught her behind the knees, lifting her up and carrying her the rest of the way. "Eat as soon as you get home and get plenty of rest. Tomorrow you're back with Temari and you're gonna need all the energy you can get."

And so she had to force herself up from the couch, lowering her legs from the armrest and standing to head to the kitchen, piecing together a meal in her mind as she did, but her muscles seemed to turn to jelly and she tripped. She caught herself on the armrest before she could fall, eyes widening. _My body is more tired than I feel_, she thought, looking down at her legs, which trembled very visibly. Her mind was completely aware, her heart calm and her muscles at ease, but the moment she moved, her bones gave out beneath her, leaving her on the floor, one hand still clutching the couch and legs folded beneath her. She frowned, giving a long sigh from deep in her chest. "But I'm hungry..."

"Then I'll make you something," a familiar voice murmured. She knew who it was without even looking.

"Kazekage," she grumbled, pressing her face against her arm. "I do wish you'd respect my privacy."

"I never go further than the entrance," he said, stepping into the kitchen as he spoke. It was true. He never did venture further into the apartment, staying clear from her bedroom and bathroom altogether. He did not invade her any further than what he already had, leaving them as simple acquaintances. Not quite friends, for she never did see him outside of his sporadic visits, but something almost like that. "Would you like something warm?" he asked, opening her fridge to search for food.

"Anything would be good," she muttered, leaning back against the couch and stretching her legs out in front of her. "Just edible..."

"I can cook," he said, pulling out some ground meat.

"I'm not denying that," she mumbled, shutting her eyes. She didn't mind his visits. In fact, they were quite nice. It gave her someone to talk to, after all her training and hard work. It made her almost feel as if she was welcome here, and it was a humbling thing, having the Kazekage fret over her like a parent would.

Her eyes opened slowly, pulling herself away from that train of thought. _Dangerous_, her mind told her. _Dangerous thinking. _Her gaze drifted toward her right, where a wall hid the kitchenette he moved about in, but for some reason, she could see him clearly, with his messy auburn hair and smooth milky skin, composed expression and black-lidded, soulful eyes. She rested her arm over her forehead, sighing and letting herself breathe in the scent that began to fill the apartment, a soft _sizzle _sounding from what she was sure was one of the pans she kept within the cupboards.

He watched the meat slowly turn from a dark pink to a dark brown, moving it around with a wooden spatula. Kankuro had never taught him how to cook, but he had observed. And many things that Gaara knew, he had learned from watching, and he learned quickly and easily, much to Temari's dismay, who _couldn't _cook quite as well. The times he'd spent standing beside Kankuro, conversing idly with him about nonsensical things as he followed his older brother's movements, locking them away in his mind for later use, had been numerous, habitual. Kankuro had never minded, happy to have a companion as he went about the mundane task of feeding his siblings—"_Really, shouldn't Temari be the one doing this?_" he'd often remark—and he was glad to see his baby brother taking an interest in something like this. "_Maybe you'll take care of your future wife one day like I take care of you guys,_" he'd said, smiling over at a reserved Gaara, staring back at him with his curiously wide eyes.

_Or a sick girl who doesn't know how to take care of herself, _Gaara thought, a hint of frustration underlining his thought heavily. He had heard from Kankuro how she had done, and had been secretly pleased to hear that she had not failed to meet his older brother's expectations—and exceed his own—wondering aloud if she had gotten the chance to eat, to which Kankuro had shaken his head to, saying that the girl had insisted on going home and feeding herself, rather than take him up on his offer to buy her a snack. _Foolish_, he thought. _You can barely do that on your own regularly. _And so he had slipped away the moment his siblings had went to their rooms to sleep, making his way to her apartment through the shadows and finding her slumped on the ground against her sofa pathetically.

His stomach had sunk with worry.

"Rice," she said, and he looked over his shoulder to find her leaning against the wall, half inside the kitchen and half in the living room, blue eyes dark with exhaustion and hair disheveled. "I want rice, too."

"Is that you being picky?" he asked, watching her push herself from the wall to fall into the nearest chair, leaning over and laying her cheek against the table's flat surface, eyes closed and a tired frown on her face.

"It's me having good taste. That meat tastes best with rice and white tea," she mumbled, her voice faint. Hunger burned her stomach but she had felt worse, swallowing down the saliva that had built up from the rich scent of sweet meat around her.

He didn't ask how she knew that. She was well old enough to know what she liked, of course. And so he moved toward another cupboard, searching for some rice and letting the meat cook further, obliging her. She had easy to make food, instant rice and small packets of tea within a box, had organized her things quite simply, putting the cups altogether in one and her plates and bowls in another. He moved quickly, movements almost frantic, in a way that did not entirely make sense to him. She wasn't in dire need of any of these things, and yet he behaved as if she was. _Or is it a need to __please her? _He paused, surprised, a hand wrapped around a teacup, watching the clear liquid ripple very slightly. No, that couldn't have been it. He had gotten so used to the new concept of looking after someone, _personally_, that it had affected him in more ways than one. Nothing more.

Her eyes opened again as he set the cup in front of her, already walking away to finish making her food. She pressed her fingers against the hot ceramic, curling the entire lengths of her digits around it tightly even as it scalded her. It should taste nice, the tea in it, and she licked her lips unconsiously, sitting up to breathe in the steam and let her face relax, her furrowed brow smoothing and her frown vanishing. When she brought it up to taste, her body warned her against it, the heat of it caressing her face and lips as opened her mouth. Just a few more minutes, she knew, and she would be able to enjoy it.

She was relieved, to say the least, to be able to come home every day and know she had accomplished _something_, and today had to be the most drastic. Had she known she could mold her chakra, would she have become a shinobi? Would she have lived a different life?

Her eyes drifted toward the Kazekage, turning off the stove and taking out a plate for her. She half wondered what had compelled _him _to become a shinobi, if he had become one of his own choice or if he had been forced to be one. She vaguely remembered him saying that his father had been Kazekage, also, and wondered if it had been his father's influence that had made him become one. She could never say, nor did she have the intention of asking him.

That was his own business.

He set the plate down before her, handing her some chopsticks and sitting across from her, leaning back in the chair and sighing. He watched her immediately scarf the food down, leaning over her plate and lowering her eyes, letting herself fully taste and enjoy her meal. He could hardly remember the first time he had had to learn to use his chakra—really, he didn't think he'd lived a day in his life when he _couldn't—_but he understood her exhaustion well. After all, hadn't he come home every day just like this when he had striven to become Kazekage? Yes, he could remember that quite clearly. Although, this girl didn't have anything so strenuous ahead of her, the training had to be every bit as intense. He couldn't settle for anything less than her absolute best. And the way her fingers shook, grasping her chopsticks and trying to move the food to her hungry mouth, and the way her breath left her, a lung full of weariness, let him know that was exactly what his siblings were forcing out of her every single day.

He was caught between being pleased and being concerned.

When she finished, she let the chopsticks clatter against the plate, tipping her head back to finish her tea and then moving to stand and clean the dishes, but her body refused to comply to her wishes, slender hands gripping the edge of the table as she slipped from her seat. He stood and clapped a hand down on her shoulder, pushing her back into her chair. "Stay," he said. "I'll clean these."

"No," she refused, shaking her head stubbornly. "You can't do that."

"Is it because I am the Kazekage?" he asked, collecting the dishes and transferring them to the sink despite her protests.

"It's because you're a guest," she corrected, causing him to pause.

He was still for a moment, and she was certain he was going to relent, but then he turned on the faucet, scrubbing away the smears of grease and food, letting her hopes plummet. "That's kind of you," he said. "But you can't move."

She curled her hands around the back of the chair, lowering her gaze. "Why is that? I didn't do much of anything."

"Chakra is a very delicate thing," he replied. "If, for any reason, you run out of chakra, you may die." She licked her lips, suddenly fearful of such a thing transpiring. Could it? Would it? "Your body is worn out because you're not used to using chakra. Over night, it will replenish and you will feel normal once more." He dried the dishes with a clean rag and put them away. "Tomorrow you will train with Temari, and the next day you will be back with Kankuro. It will be a pattern."

She nodded, pushing off the chair and down to the ground.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed as he watched her crawl to the hallway.

"Going to bed," she said simply. He watched her a moment, silent, before bending and wrapping an arm around her middle, hoisting her up and resting her against his side, walking down the hall toward her room.

"This is not pleasant," she mumbled, shifting and arching away from him. "Please put me down, you'll drop me." His forearm was pressed against the curve of her waist, and his bicep against her ribs, her legs curling inwards and then straightening very slightly, unsure how to move or how to get comfortable. He had no trouble maneuvering her, swinging her in front of him and letting her go for a moment, a split second of fear shooting through her, before he caught her in his arms, one under her knees and the other beneath her shoulders.

"You're not heavy," he said, stepping through the open doorway and setting her down on her futon, laid out in the middle of her room. She slipped beneath the blankets and sighed. He stood and walked back to the entrance of the room. "Eat breakfast tomorrow. Temari will be teaching you how to fight with kunai. It is much harder than it seems."

She did not respond, letting him slip away silently, out of sight and out of her apartment, flicking off the lights as he went. She stared up at the ceiling a moment, before mumbling, "Nothing's ever easy." And then turned onto her side and shut her eyes to sleep.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Eight more days. That's all Temari had left to push Gin to her absolute best.

She crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands, tilting her head back toward the sky. Autumn was very close, clouds moving over the sun and the wind picking up, a vague chill that only she could truly feel settling about her skin. She shut her eyes as the sound of a shuriken being tossed reached her, and felt her lips twitch upward as it landed directly in its target, a deeper noise than if it had sunk into the wood itself.

A black blindfold was knotted around Gin's eyes, giving her the stimulation of an unfair fight. "What if the enemy hits you in the eyes? If you were blinded, they can take advantage of your helplessness and attack easily, probably even toy with you. Unless you can surprise them. You have to learn how to adapt to certain impairments. If you can't see, learn to fight with your ears. If you can't hear, learn to defend yourself with your eyes," Temari had explained, nodding back toward the targets. "It's similar to Genjutsu. Some shinobi will be able to cast a jutsu on you that will affect some of your senses. Highly advanced Genjutsu will shut down all of them, but it's rare to come across a shinobi who is _that_ good. Yes, you can break the Genjutsu, but sometimes you don't have enough time. And sometimes the jutsu is too strong. When that happens, you need to learn how to work around it. This is what I'll be teaching you today."

What surprised Temari was that Gin seemed to adapt very quickly, hitting every target she had set up. Perhaps by memory, for she had given Gin enough time to memorize her surroundings. But even Temari couldn't remember things so clearly, not enough to be point blank in her attacks like Gin was. "Hey," Temari called, folding her arms. "How are you hitting every target?"

Gin wasn't sure how to answer that. There was a game she used to play as a child—or that was what her sisters had called it—walking around in pitch black darkness, trying to find the bright colored marbles they hid outside. Gin had always known why they had made her play the game, smiling tight smiles at her and pointing her outside, telling her to stay out until she had absolutely found every single one. It was because a man was over. And when a man was over, it meant Gin was not allowed inside the house...

But how could Gin explain that to Temari?

"Ah," she began, tilting her ear up toward the sky a little. "I used to play in the dark a lot. I liked to toss marbles at leafs outside to pass the time."

Temari's lips pressed together thoughtfully, eyes following the shuriken that flitted toward the target. _Why would you need to pass time in the dark? Children don't play at night, that's dangerous, _she wanted to say, shaking her head. Then again, Gaara used to play in the dark, too. But that may have been more because of Shukaku than anything. Gin didn't have a demon preying on her sanity like he had, though... She shook her head. It was best not to think about those things too deeply.

"You must've gotten pretty good at it," Temari commented, watching the girl hit another target.

_I had to be_, Gin thought to herself, recalling how, sometimes, some of the men that had visited would come out to watch her play, after he had finished his business there. She was safe as a boy, but she always felt uneasy, trying to tear a perfect hole through a leaf with a marble as best she could in the dark. "Thank you," she murmured in response.

"Tomorrow Kankuro has something special planned for you," Temari said, smiling to herself. "You'll be learning your element."

"My element?" She didn't know what that was, and in trying to figure it out, she missed her target. She knew she did, because it made a loud clatter and a feeling of unease, separate from the information Temari had thrown at her, settled within her. Something inside of her telling her she made a mistake and had not hit the mark she'd been aiming for. She pushed it away and straightened, turning her head sightlessly toward Temari, waiting for her to continue.

"Fire, wind, lightning, earth, and water," Temari explained, stretching her arms above her.

"How?" Gin inquired, intrigued now by this new subject, her mind reeling with possibilities, questions, theories, before composing herself to listen. Her curiosity, at times, did get the best of her.

"Everyone has their own methods," Temari said. "I'm sure my brother has his." She expected Gin to question further, and was surprised when she saw the girl nod, accepting this answer and then continuing on with her practice silently. She raised her brows slowly, watching the girl, and then smiled to herself again.

~~...~~X~~..~~

Gin went straight back to her apartment in anticipation of the next day, walking through the appropriate streets to get to her place sooner. She wanted to have plenty of rest for her new training, unexpectedly excited at this new concept, moving about in even in the smallest crevices of her mind. She had never known shinobi had specific elements, and it pleased her to think everyone had their own unique ability, had never thought to question jutsus and their workings too deeply. A scientific side of her, one she had not been properly acquainted with before, revealed its curious head at her, and she pressed her lips together almost resolutely, slipping past villagers who loitered about or headed in their own directions, enjoying the coolness of the desert night.

It was when she passed a particular shop, although it looked no different from the other buildings, all the same color and similarly built, that she stopped in her determined path toward her apartment, pausing mid-step as she let her eyes look over the inside from the wide open doorway. Few people were inside, with only sparse tables even available to be used, being such a small establishment, and there was a counter straight ahead with a kindly-looking elderly woman standing behind it, a warm and homely smile curving her withered lips, adding more wrinkles to her aged face, and yet giving her a welcoming air that beckoned Gin into the shop. The smell of sugary bread and candy wafted toward her and she realized that, in her entire kitchen, there was not a single item that could satisfy this newfound sweet tooth of hers, and she was very suddenly glad for finding this bakery so easily.

After selecting a few things that looked especially delicious, Gin handed over the suitable amount of money and gathered the brown paper bag in her arms, nodding a silent thanks to the ever-smiling hostess and turning to step back out into the steady stream of movement outside, continuing on to her apartment and sighing as her stomach began to growl, with the scent of sweets directly beneath her nose.

Her sandals made a soft scraping sound as she walked up the staircase, turning down the hall and going all the way to the end of the hall, the very last door. She shifted the bag to her right arm and pulled the key from her pocket, sliding it into the hole and pushing it open with her side. When she stepped through, she almost dropped everything as she jumped very slightly, drawing back immediately and holding her breath as she noticed a man sitting on her couch. She let it out slowly and clutched the bag tighter to her as she realized who it was.

"Kazekage," she muttered, shutting the door behind her and slipping off her sandals. "I don't understand why you keep visiting me like this. You could very well see me while I train." She walked to the kitchen, setting the key aside and placing the bag on the counter, crinkling in her hold, and then moving to the fridge to pull out the gallon of milk.

He had been slumped there in the couch, his chin in the curve of his palm where his elbow rested on the armrest, a bored expression on his face. He stood and stretched, giving an idea of how long he'd been waiting there, and made his way to the bag, peeking inside and then moving to one of her cupboards, where she kept the box of tea packets, searching through it and pulling out the one he wanted. "I'm very busy during the day," he said. "I don't have time to visit you then."

She poured herself a glass of milk as he heated a kettle of water, leaning back against the opposite counter and crossing his arms as she sipped delicately at her drink. "You are missing my point," she replied, setting down the cup and pulling out two small plates, already assuming he was going to join her as he often seemed to these past couple of days. "You really don't have to check up on me anymore. I do not have a fever anymore and my health has improved, I'm sure."

She was right, and he knew that. She no longer showed symptoms of her illness and she had, very visibly, become much more healthy. Her facial features were no longer sharp and rigid, a softness to her cheeks that wasn't there before. Her hair shined differently, a little brighter than it once did, and her eyes had cleared up considerably, the sclera now almost as white as the milk she drank. Her wrists were still knobby and he could still make out her clavicle beneath the loose collar of her shirt, but she was beginning to fill in her clothing a little better than she used to. And it relieved him beyond all reason to see her moving without difficulty, to see her carry things without shaking and to see her progressing so well, and so quickly. It did please him very much, and he couldn't quite explain why. But that didn't change the fact that he still worried over her, that he was still responsible for her. And, for some reason he could not possibly fathom, he felt like she wasn't yet past all of her problems. That there was still something about her that wasn't yet resolved, or that it was not yet in the process of it.

Perhaps it was her attitude, the way she responded to people, so reserved and composed, unsmiling and solemn. He didn't know. He just felt that if he left her side for any amount of time, if he let her out of his sight for even a second, something bad would happen to her. That maybe she'd get hurt somehow, or she would slip up in her training and injure herself, and he felt as if she would not be able to properly recover if she did.

And so he would continue to visit her until these worries were safely put to rest.

"Just a routine," Gaara finally said, pouring the tea into a cup she had set before him helpfully, following her to the table. "Until you become fully integrated as a shinobi of the Sand, I will be checking in on you after your training."

"Well, alright then," Gin sighed, sitting down. She didn't really mind it all that much. It just bothered her sometimes to know he did not trust her. Of course, it was only reasonable he didn't. A week certainly was not long enough to gain someone's trust, let alone the leader of a whole village, who, obviously, always had to be cautious around anyone and everyone who _didn't _belong in his village.

He let his eyes stray toward the living room as she looked through the bag for a treat to eat, her eyes flashing with anticipation and her tongue swiping over her lip almost hungrily. "Do you want to watch a movie?" he asked her, surprising them both. She paused in her search to stare at him in confusion, thin brows pulling together slowly. He blinked, curling his hands into fists. What had caused him to ask such a thing? They weren't exactly friends, and didn't know each other well enough to casually do things together like that. Had he become so comfortable around her?

No, that wasn't the reason why. He felt as if this would be the best decision, in order to resolve that bit of her that he felt was still left unresolved, that part of her that made him worry so much. He wanted to, for some strange reason, become her friend. He had no need to, had enough friends as it was—of course, they were very few, a handful at best, but he was contented enough with it—and she did not seem entirely partial, at the moment, at the thought of becoming close to him, or anyone else for that matter. But he wanted to at least try to remove the distrustful expression from her eyes, the one that still remained so palpable in her gaze.

At least, that was his reasoning of it.

She continued to stare at him, prolonging the silence longer than he would've preferred, before she pulled her hand from the bag. "I don't... I've never watched one before..." she murmured, looking down. Television was not a luxury she had had as a child, because money had only been meant for paying for food and a house to live in, and that was all her sisters could ever provide. And the money she had made fishing could only buy her a loaf of bread or a small bag of fruits. Nothing more. And so, having one made her uneasy, because she felt it was not something she had worked for, and therefore did not deserve. Watching TV was not something she did, and she found herself reluctant to do so now.

But he was the Kazekage, and he was asking her to do something with him. She was not entitled to refuse, was she? She didn't think she was. The prospect did bring curiosity to the forefront of her mind, and she began to imagine all the things she'd never seen, all there in that television set up in the living room. She glanced behind her at it, pressing her lips together. How would it be like? She really wanted to know now that he had brought it up.

"I think I'd like to," she confessed after a moment of his patient silence, nodding to herself once.

He felt the ends of lips twitch ever so slightly, and stood from his seat, collecting the bag and his tea and leading her back to the couch. He left the bag in the middle, placing his cup on the simple wooden coffee table, moving over to the TV to pick up the remote set atop precariously, turning to find her sitting uncertainly on one side of the couch, the plates stacked before her on the table and her cup in her hands, watching him with doubtful eyes. He sat down beside her, turning on the television and flicking through the channels for a movie.

She chewed on her lower lip, watching the colorful moving pictures, leaning forward to set the cup down on the table, and then fiddling with her thumbs in her lap. A nervousness settled about in her stomach that she did not completely understand, pulling her legs up onto the couch to hug her knees, resting her chin on her arm as she waited.

He finally stopped on one movie, an adventure, one he'd heard his older brother speak about excitedly once, when it had first come out. He had watched it only once, with his siblings, and they had both quite enjoyed it, but he had been somewhat unimpressed. But that could've been more because he had done much more reckless things on a daily basis at that time than the actors on screen had done in the entire movie, and not because he was being picky about his tastes in films as his brother had playfully accused.

He half-hoped she would enjoy it as they had.

She blinked her eyes at the screen as a man was kicked in the stomach by who she gathered was the protagonist of the movie, through a wall that seemed to be made more of weak and papery plaster than thick and sturdy wood. Her inevitable logic twitched its imaginary eyebrow irately as the protagonist pursued the man rather than make his escape as she had thought he would, making the movie a little less enjoyable than she would've liked it to be. She relaxed, leaning back and sliding back until she could feel the cushion against her back, moving her legs into a cross-legged position instead, reaching blindly into the bag for a sweet, eyes never leaving the screen. Was is strange she felt entranced even though she wasn't all too amused by what she saw?

Her fingers brushed the backs of his and she yanked her hand away reflexively, her eyes snapping to his. They were fixed on her, perhaps in alarm to her reaction, widened marginally, the colorful, ever-changing lights flickering from the TV casting shadows in their green depths strangely, distracting her for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching back in and pulling out a sugar covered bun, immediately taking a bite, dragging her eyes away from his as he averted his gaze, choosing his own sweet to nibble on as they settled back into a tenser silence, not quite watching the movie anymore.

Was it her surprise at the unexpected warmth of his skin, she wondered as she drank some of the milk placidly, or was it because she was not accustomed to physical contact? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had been unnecessarily rude to him, acting like that.

She frowned, suddenly disappointed with herself for treating the Kazekage in such a way. That was not very hospitable of her, being that he was, after all, her guest, and he was only being courteous, watching this movie with her. She should be more polite, of course, and she knew that. She had been taught better than that. She moved her gaze to the bun in her hand, the sugar sticking to her fingers messily, furrowing her brow.

No, that wasn't quite true.

Her sisters had always treated male guests with the utmost respect, offering them only the best food in the house and never letting them feel ignored, constantly speaking to them and responding to their questions—some men asked very few, spoke only when absolutely necessary, and seemed more interested in touching rather than conversing, and others were very animated, going on and on until they had nothing else to say—and always, _always_, offering smiles, either kind or mysterious was up to them, really. But then, male guests hadn't actually been _guests_. And she had always secretly known that.

Yes, although her sisters had always been nice to people who came over—most often men, certainly—their behavior had been for a reason, specific reasons that Gin would've rather not thought about. That Kazekage was not here for the same reason those men had been there, during her childhood as she waited outside in the darkness, whether it was raining or not, until they left. He was here for her own benefit, to make sure she was healthy and alive and to keep her company, if only for a little while. He was not here to do the things those men did to her sisters. He stayed a polite distance away and had, not once, looked at her with the expression those men had had.

To the Kazekage, she was a person. Not an object of want.

That, in and of itself, was enough to merit her absolute best behavior. She glanced at him, unsure how to go about fixing her error. He was watching the movie with rapt attention, and she figured it would be best to leave it be, but it bothered her. Almost like an itch, her brain nagging at her that she should not, ever, treat her guest as if she were disgusted at their touch. Because, in truth, she wasn't. And that was what made her retract her hand in the first place.

"I'm sorry," she said again, looking down.

He turned his head to look at her, confounded by her sudden outburst. What would she be sorry for? She held her bread in her hands uncertainly, head bowed very slightly. She seemed ashamed of herself, and it made the ends of his lips twitch again, startling him. Was it so endearing to see her harbor such guilt over a simple reflex of hers? He didn't dwell on that too long. He knew why she had reacted that way, knew he had only surprised her by reaching in at the same time. It was only reasonable, since she had not been looking.

He turned his eyes back to the movie, which was, disappointingly, about to end. "Don't be."

She wanted to ask why, puzzled at his completely unbothered expression, his entirely unperturbed response, but she figured it would only make matters worse. She let herself go silent, following suit and settling back to delve into the film once more, which seemed to be hitting a resolution, finishing the rest of her bread and milk.

As the credits rolled across the dark screen, Gaara stood, turning off the TV and stretching, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

Gin blinked up at him, hurrying to stand and take the cup from his hand, spinning before he could say anything and moving into the kitchen to wash the plates clean. As she dried them, he placed the bag beside her, folding the top over beneath it. "I've kept you here long enough. You should go home and sleep," she said, putting away the plates.

"You're too formal," he murmured. "I stayed of my own free will. If I so wanted to, I could sleep in your couch." She opened her mouth to object, but he was already turning. "But I won't, because I have a perfectly good bed at home."

She rubbed her forehead, sighing as he made his way to the door. "I was supposed to go to sleep a while ago. I wanted to get up early."

"Oh, you will. I'm sure of it. You're responsible enough," he reassured, slipping on his sandals and opening the door. She tilted her head, realizing he had complimented her and feeling her fingers curl in involuntarily. "Goodnight, Gin."

She straightened, flicking her eyes back to him, but he was already closing the door. "Goodnight, Kazekage," she replied quickly. The door shut and she stood there a few minutes, unsure what to do with herself now. She looked back over at the TV. Her first time watching it and she was more worried about a boy than her new experience. That was an absolute first.

She went to her room and changed into something comfortable, turning off all the lights and slipping under the covers to sleep.

She dreamed of something sweet, but she could not remember what it was in the morning.

~~...~~X~~...~~

She watched in fascination as the strange paper crumpled in her fingers, a light feeling fluttering in her chest for a moment in her awe, and then looking up at Kankuro for some sort of explanation, standing before her with his arms crossed.

The first thing he did when she met up with him at the entrance of the village, breathless from practically running all the way there, was hand her a small sheet of paper, simply telling her to focus some of her chakra into it, nothing more. And so she had done as he said, expecting some sort of lesson to come out of it—perhaps there was a deeper meaning to it that she wasn't seeing—and was surprised to see the paper begin to react of its own accord.

"Chakra paper," he said, noting the befuddled expression on her face, staring up at him as if he had all the answers she was seeking. "They come from special trees that are grown and fed with chakra, and respond to any hints of chakra in a number of ways, all depending on the natural element of the shinobi doing it. It's a helpful way of figuring out a person's element."

She looked down at the paper, brows pulling together in her confusion. She had assumed it would've taken _hours _to figure out her element, had already assumed it would be a long and difficult journey into her mind and body, searching through her consciousness for an answer, training all day to see which nature fit her best. She had already accepted that today would be extremely difficult, and that she would have to drag herself all the way home, exhausted and drained of her own energy, had already come to terms with the fact that she may or may not have passed out as soon as she stepped through her door because of the exertion it would've taken to do all of it. And so this turn of events was surprising to say the least.

Was that really all it took to find her element?

He tapped the paper lightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "This is different."

"What do you mean?" she asked, watching him take out another slip of paper, presumably for himself.

He held it up for her to see, and, after a moment, the paper split in half, making her jump back a little. "My element is Wind. Everyone in my family, and pretty much almost everyone in the Sand is the same. The paper reacts in different ways to each element. With wind, it splits in half. Water, it becomes soaked. Fire, it burns to ashes. Earth, it crumples away. Any of those are easy enough for us to train, but your element is completely different. It'll take a special type of shinobi to teach you properly." He let the paper flutter away in the breeze and watched it dance in the air a moment. "My element will thwart yours from ever progressing, everyone's here will. But I'll do my best until Gaara can get you a proper teacher."

He turned and started walking toward the mountains in the distance, expecting her to follow. She stared at the crumpled paper a moment, and then hurried after him, the wind picking up around them and sun hiding behind some clouds briefly. "What _is_ my element?" she asked when she finally caught up to him, walking just behind him. He wore all black, which seemed impractical for the desert, but he did not seem the slightest bit bothered by it. She was still stuck wearing lighter colors, but she had made it a habit to switch it as soon as she got home. Apparently her tastes were more susceptible to dark things, for some odd reason.

He gave her another smile over his shoulder. "Lightning."

~~...~~X~~...~~

Her hair was hardly drying when she felt his presence in the kitchen, moving about idly.

She had been staring at herself in the mirror, hands curled within a fluffy white towel she had been using to dry herself, draped across the edge of the sink. Her hair was much too long, at least for her own liking, as it slowly dried from her shower, it turned into a wild mass of curls, unexpectedly tamed in some places, wavy in others, and straight here or there. The one time she had grown her hair out long was when she was around twelve, at a time where she would often hide it beneath a hat when she was in public, and she had done it because she had been curious. _How would I look with long hair?_ She had wondered every day in her childhood, combing her stubby fingers through her light hair, bristly to the touch, until her eldest sister had finally allowed it. But, after a while, Gin decided she preferred her hair short, because maintaining it became too much for her at some point every time. And it would begin to reach that point very soon.

And then there was the matter of her changing body. She had figured she was done with her growth by fourteen, where it seemed to completely halt altogether. Her height remained a constant, quite short in stature considering her sisters' much more impressive sizes. And that hadn't exactly changed all too much. But her hips were widening and her breasts were filling out, not as drastically as they had, but a mere shadow of it. Her hands came up to cup them, unused to their new weight, and wondered if this was because of her new diet, now more healthy and consistent than her old one. It was only reasonable that was the cause. She could not think of another one.

Her ribs weren't so prominent and, when she stretched her back, there were new muscles there in her abdomen, from all her exercise with Temari. She placed a hand there on her stomach, breathing deeply and rolling her weight to one leg. She preferred this more. She felt a little more comfortable with herself and found herself appreciating the more tranquil feeling pooling in her gut, sighing lightly and shutting her eyes. She was content now. And that was something she didn't feel often, if ever.

She pulled some clothes on, simple black pants and a black shirt, ruffling her hair a last time with the towel before tossing it in the hamper, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind her. She padded over to the kitchen, running her fingers through some damp strands of hair as she did. "Kazekage, could you tell me where I can get a haircut?" she asked as she slipped past him to the fridge, going through the bowl of fruits on the counter.

He looked at her, at the chaotic disarray of silvery hair, and rinsed off an apple. "I quite like your hair how it is," he said thoughtlessly, and caught himself a moment later, taking a bite out of the apple. It wasn't often he spoke his mind, preferring to staying silent until someone asked for his opinion, but he seemed to have no control over it when it came to her. It was confusing, and he wondered if he really should stop visiting her.

She poured herself some juice, keeping her eyes down. "I don't share in that sentiment," she murmured. "It annoys me, actually. But thank you, no one's ever said that before." She shut the fridge, leaning against the counter to sip her drink.

He turned the apple about in his hand, remembering the last time he had gotten a haircut. When he was a child, it had been just about impossible to find someone willing to cut his hair, fearing for their lives that he would kill them, and then finally relenting out of fear that he would do worse if they didn't. But now, people fell to his feet in offering their services. And, yes, it was very convenient—and really gratifying—to have people willingly cut his hair, but it was also very frustrating to know it was only because he was Kazekage. There was only one person he allowed to cut his hair now, and he figured it would be best if Gin had it done by them as well. "There's a place nearby the training grounds you can go to. It's hard to miss it."

She finished her juice and washed her glass. "Then I'll go. The sooner, the better."

He tossed the core in the trash and wiped his mouth, turning to walk to the door. "The owner is nice and it's not expensive."

She looked at him, pressing her lips together. "Did you come here just to eat my food?"

He opened the door. "No, but I need to arrange for someone to come teach you properly. Kankuro was at a loss today as to how to go about helping you."

"I noticed," she mumbled, recalling the expression he had had when a sudden shock snapped between the two of them after he had taught her how to use her element, yanking his hand away and staring at her in open bewilderment. She had apologized profusely but he had only waved her away. She wondered at this family of theirs, three strong siblings that seemed so utterly accepting and understanding. They were confusing, all three of them. They all shared something that she couldn't quite place, but it was something that was unique to them, separating them from the rest of the village in a good way.

"In the cycle of elements, Wind beats Lightning, and all three of us are Wind based," he said. "None of us can teach you."

"Do you know someone who can, Kazekage?"

"I do. Which is why I need to arrange for his arrival." He stepped through the doorway and she turned to go to her room, trying to picture who this man could be, who would train her in this element. "Gin," he said, pulling her from her thoughts.

She turned to look at him, raising her brows. He usually left without another word, going off to do whatever it was he did and leaving her to her own devices. He lingered by the door, a hand on the doorknob, about ready to shut it completely, staring at her patiently. "Yes?"

"Call me Gaara."

The door was shut before she could speak, and a silence settled after his departure.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: Yes, Wind beats Lightning. And while they ****_could _teach her, they wouldn't be able to properly show her how to use specific techniques in that element. I honestly don't know what Kankuro's element is, but considering both his siblings have Wind release, I assume he does, too. (Their father has a special release, Magnet, that they do not share.) Yeah. I checked.**

**So, who _will _teach her? We'll see next chapter.**

**Review please! I'll try to get that new chapter in soon. Or as soon as I possibly can.**

**Songs (this only counts the ones I paused at because I took breaks):**

**Innocence by Disturbed**

**ATWA by System of a Down**

**Across the Universe by the Beatles**

**Bulls On Parade by Rage Against the Machine**

**Gotten by Slash **

**And then I stopped paying attention. Most of these songs are either too fast or not fitting at all. In my opinion. **


	7. Honey Shrimp

**A.N.****: I would advise reading ****_these _Author's Notes. They're important this time.**

**You have no idea what I went through trying to get this chapter done. For one, I actually finished this a lot earlier. But when I opened it to begin editing, I found my computer had erased _everything_. So I had to start from scratch. Nine whole pages lost that I had to rewrite. Is it better? I have no idea. It most likely is because I'm not as mad as I should be.**

**Oh well. Moving on. We all know this is M rated, right? It's for a good reason. Although it won't be showing in this chapter, it will in future chapters. Things like violence, gore, death, and overall adult themes. If you haven't already guessed at what Gin's sisters did for a living in her childhood, you should probably start. While I'm not making it obvious, I'm not hiding it, either. Whether you've realized it or not, Gin is a bit innocent when it comes to things like that, and therefore never lingers on them. So. Just saying.**

**This chapter is the beginning of Gin's official training, as well as more insight into the growing relationship between she and Gaara. **

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto._**

**Honey Shrimp**

When she stepped out into the streets early the next morning, she had not expected to find the Kazekage standing there, waiting for her, beside the entrance of the building. He was already dressed in his cloaks, a bored expression on his face, arms crossed in his silence and green eyes trained across the way at a particular web formed between two buildings, fluttering softly in the slightest breeze that accompanied the dawn. She had immediately smoothed her hands down her simple gray shirt, suddenly flustered that he was there, trying not to comb down her hair with her fingers as she stopped to regard him quietly.

As his eyes met hers, she had the strangest sense they matched the color of a spring she could hardly remember, back when she was a young child, but she shook it away, giving a quick bow. "You never cease to surprise me, Kaze—Gaara," she mumbled, catching herself as she remembered his request from the night before.

He scratched behind his ear, looking her over quickly. She had tucked her hair behind her ears, and wore loose-fitting clothing, blue eyes sleepy, her hand coming up to stifle a yawn behind her slender hand. "I thought I would go with you," he replied, turning to guide her toward the shop. "I woke up early anyway, and I was a little bored."

She did not further question him, following him down the empty streets. Above, the sky was but a cloudy green, lightening slowly to a weak yellow as the sun continued to rise. Soon, the villagers would begin to pour out from their homes to go about their businesses. For now, birds fluttered their wings from atop window ledges, waiting for the perfect time to sing their songs. An almost comfortable silence settled between them as they walked.

It was a few blocks passed and a few corners turned before he gestured before him. It was a small shop, the same plain clay color as any other building, but its door was a bright red, polished to a shine, with a golden doorknob. Outside, there was a sign leaned against the wall beneath the window, a small chalkboard with pink and yellow chalk announcing its business, eye-catching colors. At her hesitance, he strode forward and opened the door, holding it open for her. She stepped through and nearly stepped right out. The floors were black and white checkered linoleum, with soft lights hung above that gave a gentle yellow glow. The desk in front was wooden, no cash register. Just a forest green metal box that was locked shut and some papers strewn across the top, a pen left beside the mess. A simple chair that matched the woodwork was set behind it, with a red cushion, but nobody sitting in it.

It seemed nobody was there.

There were four mirrors set up, with black chairs and various items used for cutting and trimming and styling hair, a little further into the homely salon. Only a few posters were tacked on the wall, displaying what hairstyles were popular at the moment. Some metal chairs were placed beside the door, presumably the waiting area, and she wondered if she should sit down, but as the door was shut behind them, a bell tinkling to alert what employees there may have been, a shuffling sounded in the back, where a brighter, sky blue door was.

She prepared herself for whatever bizarre stranger came from behind that door.

And was met with an elderly woman that was small and frail. She wore a dark blue kimono, with long sleeves that were folded back up her forearms, a simple black obi, with a black haori draped over her feeble shoulders. Her hair was gray and white, pulled up into a bun and knotted with a blue thread ribbon, sapphire beads at the ends. She wore black slippers and stepped forward slowly, a smile curving her withered lips, eyes shut into two gleeful curves. "Ah, Gaara. Here for a haircut? So soon?" she asked in a soft and richly aged voice that touched upon a memory in Gin's mind, but that didn't seem possible to her.

Had she ever even met her grandmother? Why did this woman remind her of someone she'd never met?

"No," he responded, placing a hand on Gin's shoulder and urging her forward. "This is Gin. She wants to get her hair cut. Gin, this is Nana."

Nana came forward, stopping just a few feet away. She tilted her head back to look up at the girl, opening her eyes fully to take in her appearance.

Gray eyes, almost too light, almost too pale, staring up at her kindly. A ton of memories fell upon Gin's shoulders and she felt her breath catch for a moment, fingers curling inward. Those eyes reminded her of a foggy morning during winter, back when she was twelve, standing near a boulder with her clothing pressing closer to her front, a strange breeze that did not stir the icy mist in the air a single bit touching her cheeks and neck and arms, watching as white flakes fluttered down to the earth from high above. A snowy morning that had not been meant to be, the first one she'd ever seen in so many years. And then the crimson. And then the fear. And then the shock. And then the pain.

A snowy morning that should never have happened.

She bowed her head, looking away from the woman as emotions twisted deep within her stomach.

Nana smiled. "My, what a lovely girl."

Never in her years in the Sand had she ever seen such a lightly colored girl. Pretty girls, beautiful girls, but none quite like this one. Golden skin, peachy skin, but never skin as white as the porcelain dolls she used to collect in her childhood. And with such hair as fair as that, the color of a glinting katana—the one her father had used, protecting a village that no longer existed, that she had fled from so long ago—falling in such messy curls, disheveled spirals, about her delicate face and slender throat. And then those eyes, brighter than the blue skies of her youth, so much like the fleeting color, just before dawn completely broke the horizon and its shapes, piercing her very soul, and lashes blacker than the nights spent beneath starless, moonless heavens, framing them so thickly.

Nana had not seen someone quite like this in such a long time. And her name, she thought happily, fits quite nicely. Silver. The girl reminded her of silver.

Gaara smiled back at her, and Nana finally wondered who this girl really was, to be making such a serious boy look at her like that, with warm eyes.

"Her hair is so short already," Nana said, eyes drifting back to the girl.

"I like it shorter," Gin blurted, before quickly catching herself. "If... If you wouldn't mind cutting it...?"

Those dawn-bright eyes lowered bashfully, and Nana felt a genuine smile tug at the ends of her lips. "Of course," she said, turning and motioning toward the nearest chair. "Sit." Once Gin was seated, Nana draped a white cloth around her shoulders, clasping it at the back of her neck. "Anything in mind?"

Gin paused, uncertain. Her eldest sister had always been the one to cut her hair, at the beginning of summer, and she had always chosen the style. For a long time, a simple, short chop, and then gradually letting it grow a little longer. But never too much. Gin had never had her hair cut by another person, nor had she ever _chosen _how they cut it. She did not know what to tell the woman, looking at her so patiently.

"Not really," Gin sighed, deflating a little.

Gaara tilted his head to the side, turning to search for a book of styles for her to choose from, and handed Nana a suitable copy from a stack at the back of the shop. Nana opened it and laid it across Gin's lap. All of the pictures were of women with short hair, ranging in lengths, different colors and different styles. She flipped through it, after freeing her hands from beneath the cloth, pressing her lips together thoughtfully.

"You have curly hair," Nana murmured, leaning over her and pinching a corner with her wrinkled fingertips, turning some pages for her. "How about this?"

The woman had messy hair, too, and that had not been remedied. But it had, however, been used to her advantage. It looked nice enough, and Gin figured it would not get in the way. It had bangs, which would not hang too much in her face, combed to the side, with the wilder hair clipped short at the back, leaving the front longer.

"I like it," Gaara commented as Gin slid her fingers down the picture. She blinked, surprised, and then nodded.

"I do, too." She looked at Nana, as if unsure how to ask. She merely smiled again and took the book from her, setting it down on the table and taking out the proper materials to cut her hair.

Gin settled back as Nana began to spray her hair, wetting it, and then combing it down to begin snipping away. She shut her eyes and sighed.

An uneasy feeling pooled in her stomach for a moment, but it was gone before she could focus on it.

~~...~~X~~...~~

The training with Temari had to do more with flexibility, holding her body in different positions and slowly trying to increase her durability, twisting this way and that as she was instructed. It hurt, really, and she dragged herself back to her apartment afterward, feeling sore all over, through her front door, kicking off her sandals, and into the bathroom, only managing a halfhearted, "Hello" to the Kazekage, frying some food at her stove.

She carefully pulled off her shirt, unclasping a bra that was beginning to become too tight, and dropping them in the hamper, unbuttoning her pants and slipping off the rest of her clothes. She turned the knob in the shower, keeping her hand underneath the thrum of water until it was warm and stepping into the tub, lowering her head beneath it until her hair was completely wet. She let out a breath as her muscles relaxed beneath the water, rolling her head back and shutting her eyes, her mouth opening as she took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. She scrubbed shampoo into her hair, dragging her nails through her scalp, through softened locks of short hair, feeling the strands of hair that had come loose from her hair cut slip down her body and into the drain, swirling along with the white puffs of soap. When she was sure she had thoroughly cleansed herself, she shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel, standing in front of the sink to brush her teeth, blue eyes tired and sleepy.

After she rinsed out her mouth, she turned for the door and realized, with a frustrated groan, that she had forgotten clothing. She stood there a moment, mind blank, before she cracked open the door, peeking out. "Kaze—Gaara," she called, nails digging into the door as she caught herself in mid-sentence yet again. Before he could round the corner, obviously thinking she needed something, she spluttered, "W—Wait a minute! Stop right there!" He froze, only one leg visible, from which she could tell he wore black pants, again. _Does he always wear dark colors? _She wasn't one to talk, but it was surprising to her.

"What is it?" he asked, concern tinging his tone.

"Ah... I'm naked."

He drew back, turning away quickly, politely. "I see." A short silence followed, twiddling his fingers and then frowning, wondering when he'd begun to do that. "Then why did you call me?"

She looked down. "Just to warn you. Stay in the kitchen."

"Alright."

"Don't move from there."

"I won't."

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

She waited a moment, and then slipped from out the bathroom and into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. Another sigh escaped her and she almost slipped down to sit, closing her eyes. What was she doing? The Kazekage would never do anything to her.

He'd never even given an inkling that he saw her as a woman.

She nodded to herself and then pushed herself from the door, moving to the closet to search for clothing, passing the burning in her cheeks as her exhaustion rather than embarrassment.

He stared down at his hands, doubt settling within him. What was that nervous feeling from before?

Why had he felt that way?

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Hello there," a cheery voice greeted her the moment she arrived at the entrance of the village, coming to a stop as a pleasantly surprised feeling tickled her briefly, blinking openly at the people standing there across from her. Colorful people, happy people, bright people, so _different _from those of the Sand Village. Shinobi of the Leaf.

A tall man who was perhaps either approaching his thirties or in the very early years of it, with crazy gray hair that made hers seem tame and a blue mask covering the better part of his face, a matching forehead protector pulled down over his left eye. His right eye was shut in something like a happy curve, letting her know that he was smiling beneath that mask, holding up a hand, both of which had fingerless gloves, to wave kindly. And then a girl that was about her age, familiar in her brightly colored self, with short pink hair and wide green eyes, a gentle smile on her pretty face.

"You are Sakura Haruno," Gin said, bowing quickly as she realized why she'd been sent here. Today would've been a training day with Temari, but Gaara had told her to go to the entrance instead. Now she understood the reason.

"Yes," she nodded. "Good, you remembered. This is Kakashi Hatake. My sensei, and now yours as well."

_For now_, Gin thought. _Until I can become a proper shinobi_. She was relieved they were there, alleviated that she could finally begin her real training, and felt herself sigh in her gratitude. Was she doing something good in life now? Was she progressing toward something better?

She really hoped so.

"I suppose I should take you to G—the Kazekage," she murmured, turning to lead them to the Kazekage building, somewhat flustered. Honestly, first she can't get used to calling him by his given name and now she was _too_ used to it. A short week spent eating dinner with him made her like this. Was it unprofessional of her?

She hoped not.

She'd never really been within the building, but had passed it so many times throughout her time in the Sand she had memorized the way there. She stopped at the entrance, looking up at its intimidating height, before reaching over to open it with a curious hand. "Oh, you're here!" a familiar voice exclaimed, and they all turned to watch an approaching Temari, fixing her fan behind her. She bowed respectfully to the shinobi, who, in turn, did the same. "Come on. Gaara's waiting in his office." She took the lead and guided them through the doors, up a few wide staircases, passing open doorways of busy looking offices and work spaces, different shinobi working and writing and reading, going about their duties. It was at the top floor, at what seemed to be the center doorway, that she stopped to knock, waiting before a patient voice allowed them in, and opened it to enter.

Gin was surprised to see a hard working Gaara, sitting at his desk, going through a pile of paperwork, diligently writing and filling out notes, only stopping when the door was shut behind them, setting down his pencil and straightening the documents before him. He looked all of them over, the faintest smile touching his lips. "How was your trip?"

"Tiring," Sakura sighed, dropping her head, to which his smile widened ever so slightly.

"More uneventful than anything," Kakashi said. "We got here safely, at least."

"I'm glad for that," Gaara murmured.

"Did you arrange a place for them to stay?" Temari asked, walking forward.

"I did," he said, pulling open a drawer in his desk and pulling out another few documents. Gin settled back near a bookcase by the door, quietly observing. "A place near here, run by the old man. Aki, it was..? He was willing to give two rooms for a month."

"That's perfect," Kakashi said. "That should be more than enough."

Gin fidgeted, surprised. Was it really long enough? She had to master a whole element, while at the same time hone her chakra control. She didn't think a month was enough time.

Gaara caught her movement, eyes sliding to her. "Ah, yes. This is Gin, your new student."

Kakashi turned and offered her a hand, which, after a moment, she finally shook timidly. "Nice to meet you. When should we be starting our training?"

"Tomorrow would be good," Temari replied, handing Sakura the documents. "You two need to rest from your trip."

"I would like that," Sakura mumbled, stretching, and then glanced over at Kakashi.

"We'll meet up at the training grounds at around five, then," he supplied, appeasing the concerned look the young medic had taken up.

"Which means seven," Sakura muttered, crossing her arms, eyes narrowing.

Kakashi chuckled. "Five it is, then."

Gin's brows pulled together, confused, and Sakura looked at her, offering a smile. "Kakashi-sensei is terrible with time." After looking over the documents in her hands, she handed over a few to the man. "_I'll_ meet you at five to warm up, Gin."

"...Alright," Gin said hesitantly.

"Shall I show you to your rooms?" Temari asked, walking toward the door already.

"That would be great. I want to take a bath." Both Leaf shinobi followed her, conversing lightly amongst themselves..

Gin stared after them, even when the door had already shut, a perplexed feeling in her stomach. "They're quite strange, aren't they?" she mumbled, looking back at the Kazekage.

His hands were folded and he had a contemplative expression. "They are. But I do like them."

She lowered her gaze carefully, choosing not to input her own opinion, noting the stacks of paperwork. "I will be going, then."

Another odd sensation shot through him and he straightened, somewhat panicked. "Are you hungry?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

He really did like the way her hair looked now, her face more open for him to explore. She looked more awake, more alert, and, if he had to admit, more pretty. And it was not lessened as she frowned in her surprise, blue eyes tightening in her uncertainty.

"You're busy," she countered.

"And hungry," he replied calmly, already standing from his seat. It wasn't uncommon to eat lunch with someone, although he himself never did it often. He already had in mind what he wanted, and since they've been eating dinner together for the past few days, why not lunch as well?

She stood, tense by the door, as he approached, and then finally sighed as she relented. "Well. Alright then."

He held the door open for her, a small smile tugging at his lips insistently.

~~...~~X~~...~~

It was a dream, and she knew that, but she did not force herself to wake, perhaps in the late hours of nighttime, the day's earlier events already slipping from her grasp.

Where whiteness, blank and endless, filled her vision as she slept, an ocean of emptiness within her, there was color now. And it scared her. Almost as much as the things forced across the canvass that had been her mind.

There it was. Forming the whiteness, the emptiness, into something _more_, something _different_. Piles and piles of snow, all around her, and then the sudden breaking of the stillness where trees burst from the ground and grew and grew until they towered above her, strange formations, circling her like a crowd of bystanders. Leafs, dark, almost black, sprouted from their branches, but they weren't normal. They were like vines, hanging down, reaching for the ground, blackened by the flakes beginning to fall, melting on her skin like icy droplets of rain that was too cold to pour.

And then _color. _Not brown. Not green. Not gray, like the boulders framing the trees, or the too-pale eyes that had brought all of this back as fast as a freight train, shooting through her, quick as sound. But red. _Red _like cherry juice, _red _like the paint that stuck to her fingers as she lost herself in her imagination, _red _like the kimono her eldest sister wore sometimes, clinging to her elbows and pooled around her like a puddle of silken liquid, a man she would perhaps never see again wrapping his arms around a voluptuous body, a little girl hidden in a closet with her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide and scared and confused and...and...

It burned, and she could feel a stinging down her cheeks—_tears of regret?—_pale strands of curly hair snapping around her, against her cheeks and neck, catching within her black lashes as she shut her eyes to the things in front of her.

It was a dream, but the memory sunk deep within her, like claws or the fangs of a monster she did not want to admit she was afraid of.

A memory, but a nightmare, of _red_ and a snowy morning that should never have happened.

And then, and then...

"_Did you hear?_" her third sister asked, a whisper of a question, clutching a teacup near her, blonde wisps of hair falling over her forehead as her deep green eyes met hers quickly, a cold feeling sliding down her back at their emotion, depthless, impenetrable. "_Did you hear? They found the boy that went missing..._"

And then the fear, and then the shock, and then the pain.

"_He was dead._"

And then, and then...

_What the hell happened?_

~~...~~X~~...~~

She scrubbed and scrubbed as hard as she could at her skin, scrubbed until it was red and raw, trying and trying and trying to get rid of the feeling spinning all throughout her body. A feeling of disgust. A feeling of terror. A feeling of hatred.

She slumped against the wall, smooth white tiles, watching the soap swirl away down the drain, fingers curled within the sponge, breathing slowly.

She had not had a nightmare like that in a long time.

After washing away the remnants of soap from her body and hair, she shut off the water and stepped out to dry herself with a towel, pulling on some clothes and quickly brushing her teeth clean. She wanted to get out of the apartment. She wanted to start training. She wanted to do _something _to get the thoughts out of her mind. She needed to distract herself. And a small breakfast and a few sips of water and she was slipping her sandals on and locking her door, making her way out of the building.

It wasn't five quite yet, but she found she could not sleep any longer, first staring blindly at the wall and then trying to watch TV and then taking a long shower. All before she lost her patience.

She had to burn off the feelings.

And in the middle of her kunai practice, throwing and tossing and cutting at unmovable wood, she was met with two wide, emerald eyes, watching her from across the way. She immediately dropped the weaponry, assuming she may seem threatening with them in hand.

"You're here early," Sakura said gently, walking over. "That's good. We can start sooner."

She dropped a duffel bag on the ground, smiling kindly. Gin really hoped this girl could take her mind off things.

"I was told that it would be best to teach you to be a medic," Sakura murmured, putting her hands on her hips and taking up a more stern expression. "It's very difficult and requires a massive amount of chakra control. I'm going to teach you how to do this in a very short amount of time, so we don't have time to waste."

"I understand."

~~...~~X~~...~~

After Sakura had finished teaching her the very basics—a long and tiring process—she left her in Kakashi's capable hands, bowing and saying that she was needed at the hospital to treat some patients and would be back to observe as soon as she could.

Kakashi Hatake was a very strange man. Eccentric. Silly. But powerful. And it showed instantly as he showed her his self-proclaimed trademark trick, a jutsu he referred to as the Lightning Blade. Her eyes had widened as electricity zapped around his hand, and then lightning seemed to circle him, so powerful it darkened the skies above them and whipped their hair about them wildly, like a storm would in the dead of winter.

And she quickly decided he was the very _best _in the world. She didn't need much more reasoning than that.

"We have to start at the beginning," Kakashi said, pulling off his gloves and tucking them into his pouch. "It's been a long since I've taught someone this element and I don't always go by the book." He held up his hands for her, moving into a stance, perhaps to better balance himself. "I want you to try to shock me with electricity."

"What...?" she breathed, taking a step back. The last time she'd done that, it had been with Kankuro, an accidental occurrence. He hadn't been hurt but his hand had not been able to move for a few minutes, trembling very slightly. He'd explained it was because she had zapped his nerves a little, and she had immediately vowed to never do it again, despite his quick protest.

"_It doesn't matter if I get a little shocked. You gotta learn how to use your abilities or you'll never be a proper shinobi,_" he'd said to her, even as he cradled his hand to himself.

She didn't think she could do the same to this man. He seemed kind, thoughtful. A good person with good morals. She couldn't _willingly _cause him harm. But he did not seem to share in that sentiment, eyes hard and serious.

"This is a C Rank jutsu, but it isn't too hard. Just send an electric current through your hand and touch my hand. Either one, doesn't matter." At her hesitancy, the doubt tangible in her wary eyes, he sighed. "It won't hurt me. I'll nullify it with my own chakra."

She pressed her lips together, slowly taking a step forward, concentrating her chakra at her center, and then reaching a hand up, pushing some of it up through her veins and into her fingertips. A strange and tingly feeling moved about her skin, unsure whether to stop or not, but he neared his hand to hers, making the choice for her. And then there was contact, a large and calloused palm against her thin fingers, and they both snapped away as the current surged and shot through them both.

She shook her hand, trying to get feeling back into it and calming once it returned, just seconds later, but a few seconds almost too late. She couldn't tell whose it was that had overlapped the other, but from the curve of his eye, the smile she could hardly make out, she gathered she had passed.

"Good. Now we have to control that."

She sighed, relieved, and nodded. At least she was getting somewhere.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"I'm actually glad you're here," she said, shutting the fridge as he stepped into the apartment.

He looked a little more tired than usual, auburn hair almost maroon in the dim lighting of the kitchen, perhaps ruffled by his hand as he finished his paperwork. He was still wearing his cloaks, and turned to sit down in the living room, leaning his head back as he settled into the couch. "Why's that?"

_I didn't want to be alone_. "I made food this time," she said, pushing away her thoughts. "I got...excited, I suppose, over my training, and I got carried away." She brought a few plates over and set them down on the coffee table. Some sweets she'd baked, following a recipe book she'd felt like buying, and some honey shrimp with rice, something second sister always made for her, because it was rather simple to make with the right ingredients, moving back into the kitchen to make some tea. "It's a thank you. For doing this. For taking the time to make me strong." She carefully poured the tea into two cups, a warm feeling in her core that both worried her and comforted her.

When she came back he was already eating the shrimp, having taken up the chopsticks she'd left beside the plate. "This... I really like it. Make it again sometime," he mumbled, taking the teacup she offered and drinking slowly.

"I'm not your wife," she retorted, almost playfully, and then stiffened, catching herself. Why would she say that? That was rude, wasn't it?

He paused, a pair of chopsticks hovering over another piece of shrimp, before licking his lips of the sauce and popping it into his mouth. "No, of course not. I'm sorry." But was it strange that, for a short second, he had almost wished she was? For the sweet honey shrimp. And for the hot tea that rolled through him smoothly. And for the way her light blue eyes watched him, a guilty look in them that should not have been there. How odd of her to assume she was to blame. He had treated her as a housewife, for a moment, and he should not have done that. She would be a kunoichi, she would be his shinobi. She did not deserve to be considered anything less or anything more.

It was not in his place to make her do things like this. Pretty soon, she would be one of his soldiers. She would follow his orders. She would fight for his people. She would go out on dangerous missions. But she would not cook him dinner and she would not soothe his stress after a long day of work.

It didn't matter that, right now, as he ate the food she had crafted especially for him, because of him, her gratitude for his trust, and as she sat beside him, quietly, patiently, that he felt the weight of his responsibilities slide off his shoulders. That she was making him feel relaxed, that she was making him feel peaceful. It didn't matter that the sweetness of the food she'd made reminded him of a childhood he'd wished he'd had. It didn't matter that, right then, he'd felt like he was home.

It was a dangerous thing to become so comfortable around anyone, no matter how much time you spent with them.

Shinobi did not let their guard down.

"I'm sorry," he said again, under his breath, pinching a piece of shrimp between the chopsticks, held in midair between the plate and his mouth. When had he let his guard down?

She looked at him, brows furrowing. She hadn't meant to be impolite. He was merely complimenting her food, nothing more. _He hadn't meant anything more_. She lowered her gaze slowly, unsure how to go about making up for it.

After a moment, she scooted closer, tilting her head down as he turned his own head to look at her, and then promptly took his wrist in her hand, ignoring the warmth that surged through her as she did, leaning down and biting down on the shrimp caught between his chopsticks, a subtle sweetness coating her tongue, sticky and warm and delicious. A sound left her, a content noise, and she pulled away to chew, closing her eyes.

Something turned within him, something that shouldn't have, at her proximity, at the sound she'd made, at the softness of her hand, still wrapped around his wrist. Something that made his breath leave him in a gust, surprised.

He almost stood. He almost ran. He almost left her there.

"How about the pastries?" she asked, releasing him, freeing him from his sudden fear.

Calming him with that voice of hers.

She looked at him with wide eyes, open eyes; very, very blue eyes. They were almost kind, so different from the apathetic, cold eyes she so often had. And he had to turn his head away, before he did something he'd regret. Before he did something that frightened her.

"I'd like some," he replied faintly, watching her pick another plate from the table. And the way he noticed it, how she filled her clothing in better, how the new curves beneath her dark clothes drew his eyes, made him hate himself a little. If he wasn't a man—as he'd forgotten that he was—he might've not felt like this. But then, he never really did feel this way around other women.

Then why her?

What did she possibly have that he wanted?

He didn't want to linger on the thought.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: I didn't really describe Gin's training very well. I'll fix that next time.**

"**Nana" means seven. Ha, get it? Because this is the seventh chapter? Yeah. Clever. **

"**Aki" means autumn, for the approaching autumn in this story.**

**Anyway, so, further explaining what I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, there will be future mature themes. We all **_**should **_**know she's a killer, somewhere inside, and, therefore, she will kill. It's going to happen, yes. That dream she had, a memory from when she was twelve, which was brought back to her **_**because **_**of Nana—those eyes of hers—is one of the triggers. The minute she starts to think about it deeper, the more she'll recede back into who she once was (the person these poor people of the Sand don't know about yet). She only barely managed to take her mind off it. **

**Another mature theme, we all probably have only guessed at. I'm not entirely the **_**most **_**comfortable with writing...stuff like that, but I'll try my best. Because it is going to happen, and I'm beginning to realize that now. When? I have no idea.**

**Another thing? Remember how I mentioned Gin's name, earlier—what, chapter one, or something? This is going to become important. Her name, like I'd said before, was originally Gene. This is because I took her, the character herself, from something else I'd been writing (not a fanfic) and that had been the name I'd chosen for her. Here, I thought, "Gin is perfect, it means silver, which connects with the title." But that **_**still **_**isn't her actual name here. (Read back on earlier chapters. Didn't she mention she was "nicknamed Gin"? Chapter three.) So, what's her real name? Does it connect with the title as well?**

**Yes, yes, these are questions you should be asking yourselves. Another thing. Ever notice something about her memories, about her sister's in particular? Ever notice they only, **_**really**_**, revolve around her first and third sister? What about her parents?**

**Review please! My dwindling freedom is making me question the next update. As well as my stupid, fucking computer. Be erasing shit like it pays rent. **

**Holy sweet shrimp, I finished this in a day! Be proud of me. I never do that.**


	8. The Bathhouse

**A.N.****: So my internet hadn't been paid and it shut off the same day I finished this. I'm sorry. This could've been out sooner. Lately, it seems as if the world just wants me to sort of quit doing this, and it sucks. There's only a couple of more days before my freedom is completely gone, my long break over, and the updates to this will become slower. Much, **_**much**_** slower. I'll have to amp up my search for a job, family will be coming over, and I'll have to wake up at like five in the morning and probably come home around six at night. Around that, I'll have to be planning out this huge party I'll be throwing in honor of my adulthood. Yeah. I'm old. (Sobs in the corner.)**

**Anyway, this chapter is a little more...fun...? It's playful, in a way, and a little longer than my usual chapters, so bonus for you guys. After this chapter, however, because I'm pretty much skimming through her training with Sakura and Kakashi, things will take a decidedly _dark_ _turn_.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own **_**Naruto**_**.**

**The Bathhouse**

It was a green flare, enveloping her whole hand in its gentle warmth and soft glow, and it startled her the first time, shaking her hand quickly to put it out. A quick fear bloomed within her, spiking through her when it brightened. Cool fingers caught her wrist, and she looked up quickly into those kindly emerald eyes, stopping her movement altogether. The expression on that pretty face told her she had only overreacted, and she felt a bit of shame wash through her for a moment.

"You're making great progress," Sakura murmured, letting go and standing from her seat. They'd found that training in the hospital was a little more helpful. They had patients and volunteers there who offered to have Gin practice on them. "Your chakra control is improving at a good pace."

That was the first she'd heard someone compliment that aspect of herself. They'd always ever told her that she would have to get better. But here was a kunoichi who was, by all accounts, an expert at it. She figured she should take her word for it. "Thank you," she mumbled.

The amount of time it took to mold her chakra this way was almost frustratingly too long. Three days just to concentrate it in different places of her body, healing small cuts on her arms or legs that Sakura had made with a small scalpel, and then to focus it completely at her hands. And then two days just to be able to heal other people's wounds. While in the midst of it all, she had to replicate Kakashi's more complicated jutsus. And that drained the rest of her energy.

So that when she finally got to her apartment, she couldn't find it in her to do anything.

The first day had been easy. Just seeing where she was and gauging how she'd fare. But that was where it ended.

The second day, they both took it up a few dozen notches. And every day afterward was just as difficult.

Trying to heal other people, trying to make her chakra harmless, and trying to seal up skin while sterilizing the wound with her energy alone. And then studying medical books. And then learning how to make poison. And then learning how to _cure_ poison. How to crush herbs and how to stitch things. How to perform quick surgeries during missions and how to make medicine. Home remedies and temporary treatments.

And then making electricity. And then trying to manipulate lightning. And then copying his movements. And then pushing past all of her limits.

It was both a gratifying and exhausting experience.

"Maybe you won't need a month," Sakura said, sliding over a new book for her to study.

She really hoped not.

~~...~~X~~...~~

She glanced up in the middle of her work, already knowing who stood on the other side of the door before they knocked. "Come in," she said, and then went back to her scrolls. Her paint brush moved across the smooth paper, documenting new jutsus she'd discovered recently, never pausing even as the door opened and then clicked shut.

"No breaks, huh?" he asked, setting down a bag of food at the table and sitting down on the cushion, crossing his legs and pulling out the small boxes.

"The consequences of being the Hokage's apprentice, I'm afraid," she replied lightly, putting aside her work to dry and leaving the brush within a small container of ink. She had knotted up her hair, leaving her forehead protector beside her on the table, red cloth folded carefully beneath it.

Kakashi smiled, almost apologetically. "I figured you'd like a break."

She sighed, "Thank you, sensei."

He handed her a paper plate and some disposable chopsticks, standing to get some water for them to drink. "She did send a message earlier. But with your busy schedule, between training with Gin and working at the hospital, I assumed it would be best to wait to give it to you." He set down the cups, one beside her and one before him, and then began serving himself, noodles and rice and pork meat.

"That was considerate of you," Sakura murmured, sipping some water, which was smooth and cool, where she had assumed it would've been warm and stale; the Sand Village didn't always provide the best water. "Yes, I'd like to read it now."

Wordlessly, he handed her a scroll. "It has a seal marked as 'private'. It seems no one else but you is allowed to see it." He looked at her meaningfully, and she nodded, standing and slipping into the bedroom and shutting the door behind her. Once she was gone, he pulled his mask down to begin eating.

She placed the scroll on the bed, forming a seal and deactivating the paper bomb wrapped around it. Sitting down at the edge, she unrolled it and began to scan through its contents. Nothing too personal, but it did have information that was confidential, and only Leaf medics could read it. Of course, even if Kakashi wasn't allowed to know, it was only regulation and it didn't matter if he saw, but Lady Tsunade was not one to break rules too often, not without good reason. She smiled to herself and straightened once she'd finished reading, walking to the door and opening it.

"Just some more medicine she made. It could be helpful to the Sand, she says," Sakura explained as she sat back down before him. She felt the slightest disappointment, a childish and familiar annoyance, as she found he'd already finished and had fixed his mask back into place, arms crossed and eyes shut. As if he was playing for innocent. He knew full well how much his students had wanted to see his face, and for how long. And he still wasn't giving in.

"They'd appreciate that," Kakashi said, as if not noticing the miffed expression on his pupil's face. "They don't have much to work with so it's difficult for them sometimes."

She shut her eyes irately, smiling almost spitefully. "Yes, I suppose so." She blinked, suddenly remembering what she'd wanted to ask him. "Kakashi-sensei...how is Gin doing?"

"Hm?" He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Good. She's getting a hang of it, at least. She's afraid, though."

"She seems happy to learn with me," Sakura said, picking up a piece of pork meat, confused. "She's pretty good at it."

He heard the question in her silence, saw it in her curious eyes, and felt himself smile, reassuring her. "I think Gin is more comfortable helping people rather than hurting them. She'll get used to her element soon, and once she does, she'll get better at Medical Ninjutsu as well."

She nodded slowly, eating quietly. "I hope so."

"In the meantime, how about I give the Kazekage that list? I'm sure he'd like the help."

She smiled, handing over the scroll. "You know you didn't _really _have to get me out of the room to eat, sensei. We've known each other a long time. I won't judge no matter _what's _going on behind that mask."

He stood, chuckling. "Nice try."

He was already gone before she could scowl.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"No cooking for you."

"I said I was sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make it any better."

Kankuro dumped the burnt crisps left of the meat into the trashcan, letting the plate fall within the sink and washing his hands, already forming another meal in his mind to make out of what he knew was in that fridge. Temari sat slumped in the chair at the dinner table, brooding, a frown on her face after being scolded by her younger brother. Before she could open her mouth to apologize once again, catching the way his eyes snapped to her, _daring _her to speak, the front door opened, and in stepped their baby brother.

A delicate scrunching of his nose let her know he had caught the scent of her failed attempt to make dinner. "Temari..." he muttered, looking at her pleadingly. "Don't cook."

She flopped against the table, heaving a sigh. "Yeah, okay..."

"I'll fix it, Gaara," Kankuro assured, tying an apron around his waist and boiling some water at the stove. He blinked his narrow brown eyes as he noticed his little brother look down quickly—_nervously_?—and the faintest coloring of pink, so light he almost thought he'd imagined it, touch Gaara's pale cheeks.

"Can we have...shrimp?" he asked hesitantly.

Kankuro froze, moving his eyes over Gaara, searching for any signs of an imposter. His baby brother _did not _blush. But there it was, and the way his apple-colored orbs met his uncertainly made a smile crack across his face, which was currently cleaned of his paint for the night. "Sure, Gaara. I'll make some shrimp for you."

Temari watched her youngest brother closely, dark eyes widened, and then quickly composed herself as he glanced at her, offering a toothy grin before he turned to walk down the hall, to his room, perhaps to shower and change into a more comfortable outfit. She turned slowly toward Kankuro, her face falling into a stunned expression, and found him with a similar face. "What...?"

He raised his hands. "No idea." He pulled out a bag of frozen shrimp from the freezer, thawing them under a stream of hot water. "Here, come pick the tails and heads off of these while I get the other stuff ready."

Silently, she stood and did as he said.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"It's not very often you get surprised, is it?" Kakashi asked, perched upon the balcony outside of Gaara's room. The boy had recently showered, it seemed, his red hair wet and ruffled from a towel. He wore a maroon colored shirt and black pants, standing barefoot just inside of his room.

While in the middle of opening his curtains to let in the lights of the setting sun, Gaara had found Kakashi leaping across the sky, landing rather gracefully upon the balcony and offering a smile to him. It had startled Gaara, enough that his sand had almost lashed out to wrap around Kakashi, who had laughed cheerfully and quickly apologized.

Gaara felt a small smile twitch his lips. "No," he admitted. "This is one of the few times, actually."

"I came to give you this," Kakashi said, stepping down to hand him the list of medicine. "Lady Tsunade had tested out some of the plants you had reported having in your greenhouse and made some more medicine for you to use. Sakura will be teaching it to your shinobi tomorrow once she finishes her rounds. And, of course, her training with Gin."

At the mention of the girl's name, Kakashi noticed a strange expression come over the boy's face, which had been patiently calm as he'd listened to him, reacting oddly at the mention of her. His green eyes looked away quickly. "Ah... I'll thank her as soon as I can. Your village really does help us more than we can repay."

"It's nothing," Kakashi murmured, watching Gaara closely. "We're allies. It's what we do."

"In any case," the young Kazekage said, "it's still rather generous of her."

"You are very helpful as an ally."

"I can certainly say the same about you."

Temari's voice broke the tension that followed, calling Gaara for dinner, and Kakashi smiled once again. "Well then. I wouldn't want to keep you from your meal." He bowed. "Have a nice evening, Gaara."

"Thank you," Gaara murmured, stepping back into the room and shutting the glass doors, pulling the curtains back into place.

_This Gin girl is more important to you than you think, isn't she? _Kakashi chuckled to himself. How it would feel to be young and innocent again.

He jumped down from the balcony and made his way back to his room.

~~...~~X~~...~~

She made a meal out of some chicken she had bought earlier in the week, eating a few bits before she tipped her head back and finished her juice, washing her plates and heading back to her room. Her earlier training left her restless, mostly studying or quick lessons on her balance, memorizing medicine or keeping her stance as shock after shock hit her at every side, listening to Sakura's voice go on about the proper herbs and plants or flinching away from Kakashi's open hands as he shot portions of his chakra into her system, constantly reminding her to keep her guard up.

Was it too much for her to handle?

She had lied down on the ground between the living room and the kitchen for almost an hour, willing her body to gain back feeling and the electric tingling to stop tickling her skin, shutting her eyes as a mountain of information fell across her again. Plants and spices and herbs and knives and pressure points; anatomy, where the spine ends and where the nerves begin, how the brain works and how to numb a human from the pain without drugs; how to crush this or that and how to heal this or that... There in her mind, dizzying, whirling, and she opened her mouth to take a deep breath, trying to collect it all before it fell away.

Would she break down from all the pressure?

She finally stood when she felt confident she would not collapse again, and made a simple meal that she finished quickly. She took a shower, hot and long and relaxing, dressing comfortably. But as she stood in the middle of her room, there was too much time left and too much energy to burn.

And if she did not burn off her energy, if she did not exhaust herself, she would be overcome with thoughts. With memories. And she could not let that happen.

Bad things happened when she lost herself.

She folded the futon by the window, latching the shutters tightly, and then stretched, fingers reaching for the ceiling, and then bending to touch her toes. Different twists and turns, bending back to touch her hands to the floor, keeping her feet flat, and then lifting them to do a handstand. And then landing back on her feet, clenching her teeth a moment. She could not keep her mind from working like this.

The sword was rested against the wall, untouched since that night sparring with the Kazekage, and she suddenly wondered if she still needed to practice. A memory, strong, but more harmless than others, hovered over her as she approached the sword. She was five the first time she'd seen a sword. It had been a _wakizashi, _hidden behind black robes, with a sky blue silk wrapping around the hilt. She remembered holding it in her hands, curious, wondering, watching the silver glow as it was pulled from its sheath...

To this day, she was sure she still knew how to wield one, despite the many years that have passed since then.

Her hand wrapped around the sword after a moment of silent trepidation, trying not to picture its last owner. She positioned herself in the middle of the room, legs apart, holding the sword at her side. A beginning stance. In her mind, she recalled how she was taught, how long, spindly fingers wrapped around a black hilt as she held her shinai in her much smaller hands, watching intently as a tall, lean body—almost as tall as the trees themselves, taller than anyone she'd ever seen before—moved and tensed into a particular position—one she herself had failed to do many times—slow, lethargic, languid, and then a sudden strike, quicker than a snake, and the silvery arch of the sword swiping across the air, already back within the sheath before she could even blink.

When she opened her eyes, the sword's hilt _clicked _against the sheath, having been slid back in. She hadn't felt her body move, but the pounding in her heart let her know. She had copied her memory exactly, just as she had been taught. One of the few times she ever could.

Had her recent training made her used to these things?

Again and again, she recreated the movement, going in circles and yet remaining in the same place. She knew these things, she knew them as well as the back of her hand, if not better. She was as acquainted with this practice as she was in breathing. Every bit as accustomed to it as fishing or making a net or scraping the scales off a fish. But she remembered the old fisherman who had taught her those things.

Why couldn't she remember the man who had taught her swordsmanship?

She knew that he was tall. Just not if he was strong. She knew he was quite skilled. Just not if he was a master. She knew he came by often. Just not if he was a customer. Her sisters never paid him mind and so he had not been the center point of her memories. And now she wished he had been. Who was the man that had taught her how to wield a sword?

Not a family member.

Beside her sisters, she had no relatives to speak of.

They were gone by the time she was a one year old. A fire had took down the small village she'd been born in, and her sisters had only just barely managed to escape, along with the smallest handful of neighbors they never saw again.

As she tilted the sword above her horizontally, her right hand straightening in a line beside her, the tips of her fingers grazing the arch of the blade, the smooth underside, turning her head to follow her hand, the side of her foot sliding smoothly across the tatami mats, she lost the picture altogether, just before she could see his face, high above as he showed her how to hold onto the hilt, and the sword clattered to the ground loudly.

She stared at it, hands slack beside her, mind oddly blank.

"Gin?"

She looked up to find a light skinned boy, standing at the doorway of the room, brow furrowed and pale eyes concerned. An expression that had never been directed at her in her youth. Nobody had ever worried about her. And yet here was this boy, this boy with crimson hair and skin as white as snow, a horrible reminder of a morning that should never have happened, but those bright green eyes, as light as spring itself, cut that memory short.

Because there was no spring in winter.

"Are you alright?" he asked, reluctant to step into her room, as if afraid he'd violate her privacy somehow. He didn't want to go in unless it was absolutely necessary, but the look in her eyes made him break the barrier anyway, crossing over to her, and then stopping short when he noticed the katana on the ground before her.

She followed his gaze, the last of her thoughts trickling out from under her. "I was practicing."

There was more behind it, but he did not push her further, bending to take the sword and slide it back into its sheath, setting it by the door. "Let's... Let's watch a movie," he murmured, sensing that she needed to be distracted. He held out a hand, offering a faint smile. She blinked and then, so slowly it was very nearly unnerving, reached out to place her hand, colder than it should've been, in his, allowing him to pull her from her bedroom, through the short hall, and into the living room.

He sat beside her and let her choose the movie, a tentative suggestion, and then continued to watch her from the corner of his eye as she settled back to stare at the TV.

Perhaps leaving her alone would not be wise.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Hm? You brought a sword this time? Well, that's good, I suppose. I can teach you how to mold your chakra around it."

Kakashi Hatake did not look like the man that had taught her how to use a sword. He was skillful, yes, and a respectable shinobi. A wonderful warrior, as she was often told by the Kazekage as they sat at her kitchen table. But he was nothing like her first teacher. He was tall, yes, taller than Kankuro, even. But not as tall as _he _was, the man she could not remember. Something about Kakashi, in the strength she found in him, the muscles of a worn body visible even through his clothing, the standard Leaf shinobi attire, was different than that man. That man had been very thin, very tall, very lean.

Almost skeletal.

Kakashi Hatake was not skeletal.

He was healthy, and vibrant in a strange way. Similar to Sakura Haruno. Similar to Rock Lee. She supposed everyone in the Leaf was the same way.

And so she found a simple comfort being around Kakashi.

Her old life would not bother her with him.

"If you focus on the blade itself, you'll be able to concentrate your chakra. Envisioning your goals often acts as a good guide. Not always, but in these cases I find that it does."

The world that had been presented to her by thatwoman, that woman with the stern green eyes and the wheat blonde hair—the fiery woman that could shape the winds to her desire and grinned savage grins, and yet was still kind and delicate to those she cared for—was one she had never known. She saw it, she witnessed it, she wondered about it, but she never joined in it. And she was glad she was here.

The world she used to know was one she did not want to go back to.

"Never actually touch the blade. It'll most likely kill you. Unless you can direct the exact same energy throughout your entire body, using it to lessen the damage, you can never come into contact with that blade, under any circumstances."

Was it because they really cared about her? Or were they more concerned about themselves?

She couldn't tell, but she let herself believe what she wanted to. She was used to doing that. She had always done that. And if she could pretend the way this man before her showed her how to change her way of the sword was because he meant for her to protect herself rather than spite her, then she would. The quick warnings and kindly reminders came easily, as if a second nature, from him, as if he would _always _be this caring over his comrades—as she would soon be to him—and it brought her a sense of safety.

Just like with Temari and Kankuro.

Just like with Gaara.

"Thank you," she finally said, in the middle of his sentence, as he told her how to move the sword, to better accommodate her chakra wavelength.

He stopped and smiled, behind that mask of his. In his silence, she realized he understood what she meant, and felt herself sigh in something akin to relief.

It was nice to know she did not have to explain herself.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Would you like to go to a bathhouse?"

She blinked, surprised, looking up to find two girls beaming at her, halting in the middle of her walk through the streets. "...What...?" she breathed, finding herself at a loss of words.

"Come on," Temari coaxed, nodding back down the street, toward the general direction of what Gin assumed was the bathhouse. "It's customary to go to a bathhouse every once in a while. It's relaxing."

She lowered her gaze, somewhat uncomfortable. She'd never been to one, and, if she'd ever taken a bath with anyone, it had been with her sisters. And only until a certain age. The last time, she had been six or seven. She looked away, brows pulling together. "I'm not so sure..."

Sakura clucked her tongue, reaching over and taking her wrist. "All of us are going. Join us."

"All...?" She let herself be pulled down the street, past shops and loitering villagers, underneath the colorful paper lamps and through small crowds of conversing people. She felt a tickle in her stomach, frowning to herself in confusion.

"Us three, my brothers, and Kakashi, of course," Temari said, walking alongside Sakura, speaking over her shoulder.

She felt a quick heat across her cheeks, and then shook her head quickly. "I... I don't know if I should."

"That's too bad," Temari replied, lightly teasing. "We already brought a towel for you."

Gin's mouth snapped shut before she tried to argue. _So that's that, then._

~~...~~X~~...~~

The routine of a bathhouse was strange, but effective. In a sense.

Customers left their clothing folded in a basket within these shelves, just inside these small rooms in whichever compartment they went to—the male or the female one—and stepped into another room, much bigger, that had the actual bath itself, steaming at the other side of the room, with areas on either side to cleanse the body with before entering the bath. There were stools there to sit on while cleaning themselves, some soap provided and wooden buckets to pour water on themselves.

It was strange, and it made Gin feel uneasy.

As the two kunoichi comfortably stripped off their clothing, talking lightly between themselves, she stood there, facing the shelves, wide-eyed and frozen in her place. After a moment, she went about pulling her shirt off, movements mechanical and stiff, folding the shirt and placing it within the basket. And then undoing the buttons of her pants, sliding them off and folding them as well. That's where she stopped, crossing her arms and looking down at herself.

Was she too skinny? Was she too ugly? Was she _different _from them?

Insecurity, which had been locked within for quite a long time, kept within her until right then, flooded her, and she shut her eyes tightly.

"Gin," Sakura murmured, tilting her head to the side. "Are you alright?"

Temari gave a kind smile, noting the way the girl held herself, turned away from them and shaking like that, recognizing the pose. She remembered when they'd been on the ship, how they'd had to strip the wet clothing off of her unconscious body. She had been practically bones then. Not so much now. Still somewhat thin, but not scarily so. "We're all girls here, Gin. We won't judge you, trust me."

Sakura glanced at Temari, realizing what she was doing, and leaned closer to Gin, mock-whispering, "I saw an old lady naked once. Pretty sure there's nothing worse than _that_."

Gin tried not to picture it, even as Temari made a disgusted noise at the image and Sakura laughed softly, deciding they were right. Reaching behind her, she unclasped the bra, sighing as she slipped it off, bending to pull off her panties, dropping them in the basket and turning toward them, steeling her nerves.

And was immediately hit with another round of insecurity, wrapping her arms around herself.

Temari was curvy, although lean with delicate muscles, and was evenly tanned across her body, one smooth golden color all the way through. When her blonde hair was untied, it fell to her shoulders in shiny waves, and she stood with open and unashamed confidence. Her breasts were quite large, but were proportionate with the rest of her, wide hips and strong legs.

Sakura was a bit more petite in that sense. Her skin was peachy and she was softer than Temari, less toned, but it added to her more modest femininity. Her breasts were small but they fit her well, her more compact body. She had a more demure disposition, giving a tentative smile and clasping her hands before herself, rolling her weight to one leg.

Gin didn't want to look down at herself, face burning and eyes flicking back to the ground, staring at her feet, which, she noted, were more sinewy and narrow than theirs were. Fit for running, quick and nimble. But not cute and girly.

"Hm," Temari mused, catching the girl's attention once more. "We're going to have to buy more bras for you. You've grown."

"You have," Sakura agreed, and then pointed beneath Gin's breasts, which she covered with her arms quickly. "The bras you have are pinching you now."

Gin felt her face grow hotter, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course not!" Temari said, clapping a hand down on her shoulder and guiding her toward the other room. "It's a _very _good thing."

Gin sat down at a stool, figuring she had a point, and turned the knob before her to fill the wooden bucket. "Did the boys come?" she asked, changing the subject to direct the attention elsewhere.

Temari was stretching her back, raising her hands up and then dropping them again, waiting for the water to go warm. "Mm, yeah. They're on the other side of that wall there."

Gin blinked, looking behind her where Temari had jabbed her thumb, feeling a bit of heat rise to her cheeks before she turned back to dump the warm water over her head. "So close?"

"Yeah, but they won't do anything," Temari assured. "Two of them are my brothers, of course, and one of them is an old man."

Sakura gave a short laugh. "We're just lucky Naruto didn't come. He would've already been peeping by now." She shut off the water almost violently, her smile darkening. "Pervert."

"Naruto...?" Gin mumbled, staring down at the rippling water, hands curling around the bucket slowly.

"Oh. My teammate," Sakura explained. "Naruto Uzumaki."

"He's a strong kid, I'll admit that," Temari said, letting the smallest of smiles curve her lips. "Gaara certainly admires him, and we owe a lot to him."

Gin looked at Temari, intrigued. "What did he do?"

"Saved the world."

She felt her brows go up in her surprise. "You say that as if it isn't a big deal."

"Oh, it is," Temari reassured. "He's just...done it so many times."

_I want to meet him_, Gin thought, looking away again. _I want to meet this boy that's saved the world and earned Gaara's respect._.. "Is he nice?" she asked hesitantly, rubbing the soap between her hands.

"Nicest kid in the world."

"I'm pretty sure he can make friends with just about anyone," Sakura said, watching her hand as she scrubbed the soap into her arm. "He's the kind of person that can change the world if he wanted to."

"He already has," Temari murmured, pouring the water over herself.

_I really do want to meet him...but..._ "He's a pervert?"

Sakura let the bucket clatter loudly against the ground. "A big one. Sure, he's all nice and sweet. But that's only the tip of the iceberg with him." She rinsed her hands beneath the water. "Just like his Master."

"You're a lot like _your _Master, too, aren't you?" Temari asked, smirking at her.

Sakura's face warmed considerably, a gentler smile curling her lips. "I suppose I am."

After a moment, Gin stood from her stool, checking herself for any remaining soapsuds before making her way to the bath on the other side. She dipped her toes inside, testing it, and then lowered herself in all the way, shutting her eyes as she was engulfed in hot water, muscles relaxing and a sigh escaping her.

"It's great, right?" Temari asked, joining her and sitting across from her.

"I don't regret coming," Gin replied, as if that was a suitable answer.

Sakura stepped into the bath, letting out a long breath. "It's been a while since I've been to a bathhouse."

"Me, too," Temari said, resting her elbows behind her, on the edge. "It's good to let loose once in a while."

Gin lowered her eyes as they continued to talk, about their missions and duties and such. She half wondered what the men were doing, but felt her face flush whenever she did.

Why was the thought of them naked making her react like that?

_No_, her mind whispered. _It's not _them _that make you like this. Just Gaara._

She covered her mouth for a moment, her eyes widening. Her heart had skipped a beat as her mind provided her with that image. Him. Without clothes.

Completely naked.

She quickly shoved the thoughts aside, suddenly attacking her mind. She shouldn't be thinking those things. She shouldn't be thinking those things about_ him_.

She cupped her hands in the water, letting it slip between her fingers as she raised them up.

It wasn't in her place, after all.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"Hey, Gaara," Kankuro said, looking over at his younger brother. "What's up? You're spacing out, man."

Gaara met his gaze, surprised. He was right, and Gaara knew that, but that was the unsettling part. He never got distracted easily, and he never zoned out like that. Why he had, he wasn't exactly going to explain right then. He shifted, shrugging his shoulders and watching the ripples bounce off his chest. "I was thinking." About things he shouldn't have, and he knew that.

Kakashi smiled to himself, recalling the events from earlier in the week, that flustered expression the boy had taken up, which had briefly shown for a few seconds just now. He decided to cover for the boy, just this once. "Is it the council? It'll work out, I'm sure."

"Obviously," Kankuro agreed, taking the bait. "You're a smart guy, they can't deny that."

"I suppose," Gaara murmured thoughtfully.

"Aside from that," Kankuro muttered, shooting a glare at Kakashi, who only stared back innocently. "_Why _are you wearing your mask in here?"

Kakashi merely chuckled, to which Kankuro grunted in annoyance at. "We should eat dinner together after this. I'm a little hungry."

"I feel like cooking a big meal," Kankuro said, calming himself. "I bought a lot of food as it is."

"I'm looking forward to your cooking."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Certainly not."

Gaara felt himself smile, casting aside his thoughts for now. "Kankuro is the best cook in our family. You'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will," Kakashi said, directing a smile at Gaara. There was an underlying sense of mischief there that made the young Kazekage frown very slightly.

Was he planning something?

"When I say all of us, I do mean all of us," Kakashi murmured, glancing back at Kankuro, who had shut his eyes to bask in the hot water.

A dark brown eye opened slightly to look at the man before closing it again. "Yeah, I know."

"Me and Sakura," Kakashi went on, and then shut his own eyes to the green ones staring at him intently. "And, of course, Gin, too. Won't that be nice, Gaara?"

Something clicked inside of Kankuro's mind, and he felt his lips twitch, forcing himself to keep a straight face. _I see now_, he thought, remembering the expression his little brother had had before. The beginnings of infatuation. "Of course. Wouldn't want to leave anyone out."

Gaara suddenly felt as if he was being left out of something.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: More insight on Gin's past. The village she'd been born in had been attacked (by who..?) and her relatives, sans her sisters, had all died in it. **

**Why can't Gin remember her mentor? And why had her sister's ignored him so blatantly?**

**Ha, and what's up with Kakashi?**

**Please review!**


	9. Crimson Hair

**A.N.****: Like I said, ****_slow _updates.**

**I'm not sure what to say now except that I hated the last chapter, just for the fact that I wasn't really trying on it. This chapter is alright, I suppose. A little more thoughtful, less dialogue than usual, and the progress between Gaara and Gin continues.**

**Also like I said before, things are going to take a very dark turn soon. So, while good things may happen between them, Gin's past will further begin to affect. And then that..."other side" of her will surface. And we'll see where we go from there.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto_.**

**Crimson Hair**

She'd never known how it felt to be surrounded by people like this. The dinner table was large, but they had all unconsiously huddled at one end, passing bowls and plates of food to one another and conversing comfortably, lightly. There was an occasional joke. There was an occasional insult. But all in good fun, it seemed, because the only responses were smiles and laughter and sharp remarks with smirks tacked on to the ends.

An oddly warm feeling bubbled within her, and she felt herself slowly unwind, in a good way, beneath the cozy atmosphere.

The food was delicious. Mixtures of sweetness and spice and bitter tastes; fish and rice and tea and pork meat, and then the curious bowl of pink and white shrimp, which was nudged toward her as chocolate colored eyes flashed in something like playful mischief.

Her curiosity flickered briefly, eyes narrowing a little, before she settled back into her observance, chewing absently as she watched the expressions flitting across their faces. How Temari's face glowed with her mirth, how Sakura's eyes shined with happiness, how Kakashi's eye shut into a gleeful curve as he chuckled at the joke his apprentice had just made; how Kankuro scarfed down his food and tried to talk with his mouth full, only to get a light slap on the back of his head by his older sister; how Gaara leaned closer to her despite having his attention completely turned toward them...

She very much did like the warmth she felt now, how it emanated from within her and circulated through her very bloodstream.

She was absolutely content.

"Do you like it, Gin?" Kankuro asked as the laughter died down to occasional chuckles and the group moved on to trying to finish their dinner. All their eyes moved to hers, but it was Gaara's gaze, which was kind and expectant, that made her speak.

"You are a gifted cook," she murmured, and his responding smile was genuine.

"He is the best in our family," Gaara said, glancing up at Kankuro quickly before turning his eyes back to hers. "Temari and I didn't get that trait, unfortunately."

Kankuro's eyes flashed again in that look from before, a smirk curling the ends of his lips, and Gin wondered, once again, what it was that went through his mind. She kept her eyes on the older brother as she replied to Gaara. "I wouldn't say that. You aren't so bad."

"He's cooked for you?" Kakashi asked, and something in his tone, in the emotions swirling beneath his calm and composed demeanor, gave him away to Gin, but no one else seemed to pick up on it, all of them looking between she and Gaara in something like wonder.

"At the beginning," she said carefully, her eyes narrowing again. "When I first got here. I was too weak after training to do much myself."

Temari smiled, and something told Gin that she was oblivious to the strange looks being passed between Kankuro and Kakashi. "That's Gaara alright. A true gentleman."

Gin silently agreed.

"That's more than can be said for most men these days," Sakura mumbled, picking at her food. "Whatever happened to the good old days?"

"Ah, we're not _that _hopeless," Kankuro grumbled.

"Please," Temari sighed. "Don't get me started on you."

He scoffed, but Gaara spoke before they could argue. "I'm full, Kankuro. Thank you for the food."

Sakura nodded in agreement, clapping her hands together once in what looked like a prayer. "It was wonderful, yes. And it's nice to have everyone here, gathered in one place."

"Feels like home," Temari sighed, slumping back into her chair.

Gin looked down at the same time that Gaara did.

Kakashi and Kankuro watched carefully, perplexed.

"Who's turn is it for dishes, again?"

"I cooked."

"I had paperwork all day."

"Don't use your job as an excuse!"

Sakura laughed and ceased the argument there.

~~...~~X~~...~~

She noticed, immediately, how Kankuro's face cracked into a big grin and how Kakashi turned and suddenly said he forgot something in the kitchen while she knew, with absolute certainty, he hadn't, when Gaara offered to walk her back to her apartment.

Temari made another comment about how gentlemanly he was, and Sakura once again mourned the rarity of that fact.

Gin nodded a goodnight to them and stepped into her sandals, slipping past Gaara as he held the door open for her, and wondered, briefly just before he shut the door behind them and they walked out into the nighttime, why her suspicion over his older brother and her new teacher had not ebbed the entire night.

She really wondered at the feeling in her chest.

They walked in something like companionable silence, only slightly uneasy, and she realized a second time that she was content.

Not quite happy, but near there.

She spoke, quietly, about nonsensical things and he responded in the same tone.

She asked, softly, little questions that he answered just as lightly.

They were two people conversing.

They were two people communicating.

She felt normal, for once.

The lights had been put out and she suspected that it was a little past midnight; time seemed hazy when she was enjoying herself. Her eyelids were heavy and she stifled a yawn with her hand. She longed for her bed.

"Do you like them?" he asked, drawing her attention from the shadows pooling between each building they passed.

"I do," she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets against the chill that had settled through the night. "They are...warm people."

Another corner rounded, and there was the apartment building, the small windows black as people slept soundly within, and she longed for her bed as well, body thrumming and a yawn threatening to break from her again. Beside her, she heard his footsteps falter, the scraping of gravel a little louder than it should've been, and she turned to look over at him.

Too many things were putting her on edge, and the look on his face was not helping that.

"Did you have fun?" he asked, averting his gaze when her eyes began to pierce his. They were paler in the nighttime, eerie in the darkness, glowing in the dull lights of the streetlamps. Not scary, just a little more intense that they should've been. He didn't know whether he liked it or not, but he wasn't in any place to decide that now.

"I did," she murmured slowly, and then let herself relax. There was nothing wrong, really. She didn't need to be so tense. He would think the wrong thing if she were. "I've never had a dinner like that, with so many people."

His eyes slinked to hers. He'd long since decided not to probe at her past, but the expression that had overcome her features prompted him to question her, despite how much he had refrained from doing so for so long. "Why's that? What about your family?"

He was right not to. Immediately, a wall fell behind her eyes, which had hardened slightly in response. Her lips turned down and her brows pulled together. A look, he thought, that was a lot like distrust. Nevertheless, she answered his question, all the while turning from him and beginning to walk toward the apartment building. "It was just me and my older sisters, really. But not all at the same time."

And he wanted to know why, he really did, but she was not stopping, she was not looking at him, and once she had passed underneath the entrance of the building, he had lost the nerve altogether. "Goodnight, Gin," he mumbled, too quiet for her to hear.

He caught the flash of her eyes, silvery blue as the clouds parted for the weak light of the moon, and that was all she gave in reply.

~~...~~X~~...~~

Her apartment seemed so much smaller now, and yet so much bigger.

Empty.

The warmth had completely trickled away and there was a faint ache at the bottom of her heart, thrumming painfully. It could've been the question he'd asked, or it could've been the fact that she'd realized just how lonely she _really _felt.

She splashed cool water onto her face and stared at her reflection, tracing her features carefully and making expressions that fell quickly each and every time. They all looked like grimaces and she wondered how other people saw her.

Her features were changing again, and she brought a hand up to press her palm against her cheek, which was softer than it used to be, her thumb curling inward as her hair tickled her skin, less wiry than she remembered. Was she appealing yet? Would she be approachable?

When she really thought about it, her sisters never had many friends, although eldest sister always claimed it was because of jealousy, she'd never quite believed it. Because _she _had had friends, at one short period of time, and they had liked her as much as she had liked them. They had never been allowed into the house, and that had always bothered her. Eldest sister had said it was because they were all dirty, but she always suspected it was because _she _was jealous.

Loneliness is a terrible thing, and while she had spent so many nights with men and had never _truly _been alone, eldest sister had always been very lonely.

And now Gin knew how it felt—had known for so long, only now it was worse because she remembered what it felt to _not _be—and she understood her eldest sister a little better. She half wanted to steal away her so-called friends and have them to herself, and yet wanted to isolate herself forever. It was as if, the more people there were around her, the more alone she felt, and the more alone she wanted, and yet didn't want, to be.

She burrowed beneath her sheets, forcing herself to count until she fell asleep, hoping her dreams would not be as lonesome as reality.

~~...~~X~~...~~

By the next week, Sakura had taken their lessons into the greenhouse and began to show her how to make medicine and poison. There was a very small variety of plants there, but she made do with what the village offered, and helped her angle the scissors better to snip away at the parts she needed. She taught Gin, as she slid a stone bowl to her to crush the herbs within, the different sections of each plant and what they all meant.

That no part of a plant was useless.

Kakashi had taken them to the walls that surrounded the village, and showed her how to fight in narrow places, how her senses could be disoriented without any Genjutsu or blindfold, how nature itself could confuse a person. She had to strike and strike again until she could project her element through stone alone, how quickly her chakra could actually move, if she wasn't afraid of it.

How lightning beat earth, nearly every single time.

Sometimes, they all ate together again, different varieties of food that tested Kankuro's talent, and they talked and they talked until there was nothing much to say but more simpleminded, silly things, and how Gin felt warmer each time, until her stomach was fluttering with it even after she'd gone home.

Sometimes, when they didn't eat together and they were all too busy doing their things or tired from their missions, Gaara visited her, like he always does—if he's not walking her back and making sure she's safe—and cooked her dinner and told her about his day, asked her about hers, and he tended to, more and more lately, compliment her on her work.

And how relieved she felt to know he was proud of her.

He never did ask about her family again, and she never brought it up, either.

~~...~~X~~...~~

The mornings and nights were getting colder, and she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm, her breath huffing over her thin fingers and she wished, for a few moments, to be fuller, so that her body heat wouldn't be stolen away so easily. The air made her lips chapped again and she flinched every time her tongue swiped across her lower one and a throbbing followed it, cursing herself to remember the next time only for it to happen again a few minutes later.

She had gotten used to the warmth of the desert. Not so much to be able to endure at the hotter times, but enough to grow comfortable in it.

It came back by midday, and her skin would thaw nicely, rushing down her limbs and burning her cheeks and nose and pooling nicely in her core. She would stretch and sigh until she was loose once more.

"Is it always going to be this cold?" she asked Gaara once she'd stepped through her doorway, rubbing the night chill from her arms that had yet to leave her quite yet.

"This isn't as bad as it should be," he replied, somewhat thoughtfully, pushing the sizzling meat across the pan lightly. "It'll get colder from here."

She could handle cold. She'd always thought so. It always snowed in the Water Country, in the winter and even early spring, and the rain was never warm unless it was summertime. But desert cold was completely different. A sweater in her old home was enough, an umbrella could save you if you didn't have one, and just an extra shirt could keep you cozy enough. In the desert, though, the cold could pierce right through to the bones. And not an extra shirt in the world could save you from that.

"I need a jacket," she grumbled, flopping into the closest chair. "This is too much."

He watched her carefully. "I suppose it is. Your heater is failing and you don't have enough blankets." He turned off the stove and moved to get a plate. "We'll have to buy some."

"Now," she said, straightening, and he looked at her again, pausing. "We should go now."

He smiled, very faintly, and set down her plate before her. "Eat first, then we'll go."

She wondered why he looked so warm, even though the room itself wasn't.

Outside was getting colder and she drew closer to him without meaning to, following him through the streets to the appropriate shop. People were lingering inside of shops instead of outside, and those who had decided to stay out were huddling together. Nobody looked very cold; they seemed to enjoy the change from the hotter day, but it seemed preferable to be near someone instead of braving the cold alone.

She picked two of them, both hoodies, one black and one white, and pulled one on as soon as they paid for them, stuffing the black one into the paper bag they'd gotten with the purchase and burying her hands in the pockets. He smiled again, furrowing his brow at her reaction and guiding her down the street to another shop, where linens were sold. She chose thicker blankets and softer pillows, which all looked promising and made her anxious for sleep.

"You should buy a normal bed soon," he commented. "It would be more comfortable than a futon."

"On tatami mats?" she asked, holding a particularly soft blanket to her chest.

"We'll just build it over it," he said. "As long as you don't move the bed for any reason, it will be fine."

She looked down, wondering. The bed she'd left behind in her old house hadn't been all that comfortable. It had come with the house and had squeaked so loudly every time she shifted even the slightest bit. Sleep had been a challenge back then, with its rickety frame and stiff mattress, but she had made do. What wonders could a brand new bed, which would certainly be soft and smooth and, of course, all her own, do?

Sleep would be heaven at last, as most people have described it to be.

"I would like that," she finally said. "And I like this blanket. Can I get it?"

"Of course," he murmured, the corners of his lips twitching slightly.

He bid her goodnight once she had put away her hoodies and extra blankets, draping a thicker one across her futon, shutting the door behind him after promising they'd buy a bed the next day.

It was a moment before she felt her cheeks burn, just a little, at what he'd said, quickly reprimanding herself.

The bed was meant for _her_, not _them_.

She passed out the moment she pulled the blanket up to her chin and dropped her head into the new pillow.

~~...~~X~~...~~

"You guys are leaving so early?" Temari asked, her chopsticks frozen in midair. "Why?"

Sakura wiped her mouth with a napkin, blinking her wide eyes at them, and Kakashi tilted his head to the side, lowering his book to his lap. Kankuro narrowed his dark eyes, already assuming. "You didn't like my food?"

"I couldn't possibly hate your food," Gin sighed, watching him closely. He and Kakashi both. It could've been in her mind—really, it wouldn't be surprising if it were—but it seemed to her that they were up to something. This past week, and the week before, they had been keeping her longer and longer, teasing Gaara about something that made him scowl and his cheeks pink curiously, and taking jabs at her. At what, she didn't know, but it irked her at the worst of times and baffled her at the best. Now she was regretful to further explain what they were doing, for fear that they would twist her words.

She didn't need any more of that.

"I need to buy something and he offered to take me," she merely said at their questioning stares.

Temari nodded, presumably thinking nothing of it; Gaara always did favors for his friends and this was no different. Sakura went back to eating, not finding it abnormal in any certain way; she often did the same for her own friends, so she assumed others did, too, even if it was Gaara. But Kakashi's eye glinted and he looked back down at his book, hand coming up to cover his already covered mouth. Kankuro, as she had expected, grinned very widely.

"You want him to take you, huh?" he asked, and she felt Gaara bristle beside her.

After a moment of silence, where Kakashi buried his face further into his book and Sakura seemed to think about it, Temari's hand snapped out to slap the back of his head.

She supposed she could've worded it differently, now that she understood, her memory working quickly to translate what she'd just said and what the awkward quiet had meant, but it really wasn't such a dirty thing to say that it should be called out like that. She wanted to call him out on it, how unfair that really was—it was a little much _just _to make a dirty joke—but she deduced it would've been too much work. More than she was willing to put in.

She figured if she told him, as explanation, "My futon is too uncomfortable," it would've made matters only worse.

She turned then, and went straight to the door to slip on her sandals, opening the door to step out. Temari began to scold her brother and Sakura began to snap at him about being perverted, while Kakashi remained innocently quiet, reading his dirty book. Gaara shut the door behind them, waiting a moment before clearing his throat in their silence and turning to look at her fully.

"I'm sorry for that," he muttered. And he did look ashamed, for his brother and of the situation.

"It's alright," she said. "He's been waiting all week to make a joke like that."

He blinked, surprised. "You—"

"I noticed, yes."

He glowered down at the ground, a pale gray, bleached by the moon as their skin was. His hair was a crimson now, and it made her stomach twist a little. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again.

"Let's just buy my bed," she said, waving it off. "I think I want it by the wall, beside the window."

He smiled, relieved she wasn't more bothered by it. "It will look nice."

~~...~~X~~...~~

The assembly of the actual bed took a bit. Between reading the instructions and placing the parts in the appropriate places, it became more and more tedious, until he was gathering the screws and the bolts and lifting up the whole of it, when it began to resemble an actual bed.

It was a full-sized bed, bigger than she was used to and nicer than she imagined, with a black wooden frame of simple designs, a short headboard and short legs, so close to the floor she wouldn't be able to slide underneath.

It took maneuvering, and planning, and rethinking, and measuring, before she decided where it would be best to put it, before they began building. She would hold the parts in place as he fixed the bolts within, twisting a screwdriver and shaking the frame firmly once or twice to check if it would hold. Once the bed was finished, shaking it once more to recheck, they slid the mattress onto it, and then pulled the sheets on, the comforter and the blankets, tucking it beneath and smoothing away the creases. When the pillows were properly adjusted and the mattress was perfectly settled where it should be, they backed away to take a look.

She clapped once, startling him, as they had gone quiet for a moment, and he looked at her, green eyes wide. "This is good," she said, nodding to herself. "Thank you."

He was glad. To know she could sleep tonight, _comfortably_, brought him unexpected ease.

She walked forward, and then pressed a hand down on the mattress. It sunk easily beneath the pressure. "I may get up later than usual," she warned. "I haven't slept on a bed this soft in a very long time." And by that, she meant never.

He nodded. "It's alright. You'll be meeting with Sakura, and she's taking an earlier shift at the hospital."

What luck she had.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked. There was still too much time left in the night and she didn't want to go to sleep just yet, despite how inviting the bed was. "I think there's one showing tonight that I heard about a few days ago, about time traveling. It intrigued me."

"That sounds interesting," he said, smiling. He didn't want to admit how much he wanted to stay near her tonight. It would've been out of place in their mostly distant relationship, which had not progressed much further than eating dinner beside each other, talking about unimportant things, and watching the occasional movie. Never touching. Never closing the space between them.

Friendship, as it would always be.

He didn't want to admit how depressing that was to him.

~~...~~X~~...~~

The dream she had was a pleasant one.

Third sister was up in a tree, just outside their home, which was painted a chipping red this time, with netted windows and a black door screen. She was knotting wire strings, which she had found left behind by some shinobi in the forest, around the tops of glass bottles to hang from the fragile branches that were left behind before spring. It wasn't raining yet, but it was thick in the air, and the breeze that passed was refreshing, and she took a deep breath as she watched, carefully, while her sister's nimble fingers tied white strings and silver wires around another branch, letting the bottles drop down to swing and click and cling in the wind, softly and rhythmically.

Eldest sister slept in a hammock a little further down, black hair pinned up at the top of her head and her pretty pink sweater tucked nicely into her curves. And second sister gathered fallen fruits within a basket, stooping and bending and kneeling to pile at her arm, walking back to the house to wash them and put them into a bag to sell at the market place later.

She was waiting, eyes flicking from sister to sister in her impatience, for a sign. A glint of polished metal. A flash of black against the gray and green around her. _Anything_ so that she would know, for sure, that today would be the day.

It came with the twitch of third sister's hands, a yellow glass bottle that had once held a bitter tasting liquid falling to the ground and shattering, very suddenly, against the hard ground, where there was mud that would've pillowed it, it had fallen on the hidden slab of stone buried there. The shards shot across the dirt and scraped against the muck, some nearly reaching her before second sister was yanking her back by the elbow. Third sister yelped and eldest sister's eyes snapped open in shock, sitting up and looking at them frantically.

And there he was, stepping out from the path in the woods, chuckling lightly and saying, in a voice she'd know anywhere, "All that ruckus for one little bottle."

Like water rolling over rocks, like silk sliding over skin, like a snake slithering across the floor, and a cat purring softly underneath a gentle hand, that was how that voice sounded. Deep, but light. Playful, but serious. Soft, but warning.

And she would always remember the smooth swipe of a blade when she thought of him. Not of the death that came with it, but of the grace it demanded.

How desperately she wished to be like him. How frustrating to know she couldn't be.

It was a nice dream, because it wasn't raining and her sisters weren't doing strange things—not with him there, at least not while he was in the house—and he was placing the wakizashi in her little hands and telling her, confidently, "You'll be the best one day. I can feel it."

She woke very slowly, languidly, as if she was being pulled from water even though she hadn't been drowning, as if resurfacing for a moment before sinking back in. Her room was dark and still shadowed with nighttime, and she let her eyes fall shut to sleep once more.

And the second dream wasn't so much a memory, but a wish.

If only crimson wasn't so much like blood, then maybe she could get lost in it.

~~...~~X~~...~~

He woke to find his brother looming over him in the darkness. Only a brief rush of fear slid through him, not of his brother but of being watched in his sleep—he associated it as an escape, and he didn't like people invading that—before he sighed, his eyelids drooping and his body heavy with the aftermaths of his dream, already trickling away. "What do you want?" he asked, voice deeper and raspier in his ears, and he licked his sleep-softened lips to gather his bearings quicker.

"For you to be happy," he snapped. "And you're not letting that happen."

"What?" Perhaps it was his groggy mind, but what his brother had said made no sense to him.

Kankuro sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. His pajamas were old and tattered, his shirt rumpled and stained with bleach he'd been using to clean the floors but had splattered on him and the pants a little shorter than they used to be. But Kankuro wasn't one to complain, and so he wouldn't be buying another pair until they were unwearable, which would be soon, considering their growth spurts. "Gin is a nice girl," was all he said.

"Yes..." Gaara agreed when Kankuro did not continue.

"Granted, she doesn't have the cleanest record, and she's a little more reserved than most. But she's got something, and I think you really need that something." He tilted his head back, but all Gaara could really see was his silhouette, the door halfway open just beyond him, where yellow light from the hallway streamed in. "She needs you, too, I think."

"Kankuro, I don't think—"

"_I _think so. She needs somebody who's been through a lot, she needs to learn how to get past all of her... Whatever she's going through." He felt his brother's eyes on him, suddenly cautious now. "You do see it, right? She's not... She's troubled, I think."

Gaara nodded slowly, sitting up and staring down at the blankets bunched across his legs. "Yes, I see it."

"I'm afraid she might lose herself at some point—maybe even hurt someone—and I know that you can stop that from happening. You've been through a lot more and you got out of it just fine. She needs help, like you did. And I think _you _can help her, Gaara." He paused, turning away so that his back was mostly to him, running a hand through his brown hair. "And I know you like her."

He flushed, hands twitching. "N—No."

"Yes, you do," Kankuro said, looking at him so that he could see his smirk. " I don't blame you. She's interesting, despite whatever is going on with her. And she's getting prettier. I understand why and all; she's getting healthier. And she is reasonably strong—she'll be a good shinobi, and we both know that—and I think she can feel the same way, too."

Gaara turned his face away, shoving away the hope that had bloomed in his chest. She wouldn't, not once she heard about his past. But then, she was every bit as reluctant to share her own story.

"I want you to be happy, man. I haven't been the best big brother, but I want to start now. And I'm telling you now," he said, giving a more reassuring smile. "Call it, me putting in my 'two cents'... I think you can be happy with her."

With that, he stood, ruffling Gaara's hair and padding over to the door, yawning deeply into his hand.

Gaara felt his lips lift in spite of himself. "Kankuro...when did you figure it out? I know you've known for a while, but I don't know how or when..."

Kankuro chuckled, moving to close the door. "Shrimp."

~~...~~X~~...~~

The moment the sword had connected with the kunai, she knew.

Her eyes snapped to his, her dusty blue and his dark gray, both widening as it snapped, suddenly, immediately, and the moment froze, as if willing her to see how it would go. How it got to that point.

And she caught it, every fragment of the moment, capturing every detail and every slight movement. How he tensed, how his arm moved to pull back, how surprised the noise he made sounded, and then how the coil came undone in her center, and lightning tore between them.

He fell back, stumbled, skidded, and caught himself a few yards away, sucking in air as his nerves regained their feeling rather quickly—he was experienced, of course, and even if she had shocked him, it didn't mean he couldn't handle it. And she stood there, stock still, eyes wide and breath stuck within her lungs.

She dropped the sword a beat later, and clenched her fists as she grit her teeth, frightened to her very core. When did she get that strong? "I'm...sorry," she muttered, looking down.

"It's fine," he said after a moment. "You just caught me off guard. Let's call it a day for now. You released too much chakra."

She nodded and collected her sword, turning for the path back down into the village. He stayed put a moment, tucking away his kunai, feeling rather uneasy.

They wouldn't be needing those last two weeks at this rate.

~~...~~X~~...~~

She was asleep when he stepped through the doorway, and he let himself feel disappointed, for a second, that she wasn't awake to talk to.

The day had been difficult to get through, with meetings about threatening villages and endless stacks of paperwork demanding his attention. His frustration at knowing he'd have to send one of his siblings to settle a dispute and his worry of imagining it not going well. The warnings his council continued to give about the "slave girl" from the Mist, and the news that the repairs to the village were going slower than usual; how maybe he'd have to start giving his brother shifts at the work site and how maybe he'd have to make Temari his official diplomat.

He'd really wanted to talk to her, to find some comfort in knowing she understood his concern, or would at least try to. He'd wanted to eat some of her sweets and watch a movie with her, unwind in her apartment and let himself forget he wasn't as tired as he actually felt.

But then, he was glad she was asleep.

He might've ended up doing something they'd both regret. Like touch her.

And he couldn't do that, even if he had his brother's "blessings".

He made some food for her and wrapped it up with foil, sliding it into the fridge and putting away the cleaned and dried plates. He paused before he could pat her hair in his goodbye, settling for the lightest brush of his fingers across the looser end of her sleeve, never coming into contact with her skin, which looked soft and smooth, promising, and pulled away, stepping back to leave and then pausing.

After a moment, he slid his arms under her, lifting her from the couch. She was heavier than she used to be, and that was relieving. But the way her newfound softness molded against his chest as her head fell against his shoulder, brought back a round of nervous excitement, and he hated himself for it.

He pulled back the sheets of her bed and tucked her beneath them, setting her down gently and pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. She twitched and curled up immediately, and he drew his hand away before she could trap it beneath her. He stood there a moment, contemplating, before he quickly turned and walked away, shutting the door and turning off all of her lights. He locked the front door and was already moving over the rooftops to his home, something twisting in his stomach and pooling warmly in his gut.

He really shouldn't have been, though. It wasn't right.

~~...~~X~~...~~

**A.N.****: So, I'm assuming next chapter will be a little longer, and will be the beginning of her...descent. **

**Review please! I'm gonna need the extra push to get it out quicker this time around.**


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